


His Soldier, His Alex

by ShipTheShips



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipTheShips/pseuds/ShipTheShips
Summary: He never told them the tale of the rude, green eyed prick whom pushed him down on his knees behind a sandhill and made him swallow his cock. And he never told them of how he stuck to his side like a lost puppy until they jumped off the train in London, his arse aching as he limped down the stairs. And he definitely did not tell them how his eyes were red and swollen with tears as they hugged goodbye inside the train station, whispering unimportant shit in each other's ears before parting ways, never to see each other again.





	1. Part 1

Tonight was just another London night. The streetlights were flickering under the heavy downpour, Big Ben chiming as the clock strikes 23:00. Inside a worn down, two-bedroom apartment is a young lad who just turned 25 last month. The war had ended just last May, yet this October evening seemed as gloomy as ever. There was no one in the streets now, only nervous, shell shocked soldiers locked inside their homes, curtains closed permanently. 

Tommy didn't like to think of himself as one of those. He had a job at the local pub, wiping down tables and serving up beer to thirsty, middle aged men eager to watch the news for any information on Germany or those bloody Krauts. There were rarely any. 

Yet, they seemed to take interest in listening to Tommy's stories of Dunkirk, how it stole his youth in every way possible. He told them of how the water never seemed to leave him alone, not since that faithful week, and any action such as taking a bath turned into a damn quest. He told stories of his mates that got shot, bombed, burned or drowned, of Gibson who turned out to be a fucking frog and vanished before his eyes. He told tales of the planes and their booming engines, dropping bomb after bomb onto the shores of some innocent, French village, disrupting the lives of so many. 

However, he never told them the tale of the rude, green eyed prick whom pushed him down on his knees behind a sandhill and made him swallow his cock. And he never told them of how he stuck to his side like a lost puppy until they jumped off the train in London, his arse aching as he limped down the stairs. And he definitely did not tell them how his eyes were red and swollen with tears as they hugged goodbye inside the train station, whispering unimportant shit in each other's ears before parting ways, never to see each other again. He just left out that part. 

So, when he returns home to his dark, chilly apartment, he places his jacket over the back of his dad's old, rackety chair, kicks his shoes off and toes them carefully until they are flush against the wall, and then proceeds to lock up. He glances quickly at the picture to his right, above the small potted plant his sister gifted him for his birthday. It was of his mother and father on their wedding day, their wide smiles blinding and beautiful in his otherwise dark apartment. He feels like he should remember them like that, and not like the people whom kicked him out of their family home, frowns on their pale faces as he limps off, his suitcase filled with his most precious belongings. He wants to remember them as happy and loving, not like his father running after him down the road, throwing rocks at him and screaming "you fucking poof" at the top of his lungs. He wants to remember them as mum and dad when he squats down next to their gravestones with flowers in his hands and tears on his reddened cheeks. 

He always suppresses these thoughts, however, and shifts his attention over to his fat cat stretching its chubby limbs across the couch, squinting at him as he reaches over to scratch his head quickly. He feeds it, changes the water in his clear glass bowl and feeds him a tablespoon of milk, not willing to waste the little food he can afford. Then, as a part of his routine, he turns and enters his bedroom, stroking his fingers over his framed uniform, letting his fingers stroke across the dark wood. There is an indent where he's repeatedly done this for 5 years. 

But this particular evening he had ended his shift early, at 22:00. The owner had told him to take some time off for a few days after he had broken down it a fit of tears and screams as someone fired some firecrackers down the streets. He hadn't protested, just collected his belongings and elbowed his way out of the pub, ignoring the sympathetic looks from his regular customers. He had made it home in 5 minutes instead of ten, thrown his jacket to the floor instead of neatly across the chair, kept his shoes on and poured the rest of his weekly amount of milk into the clear water bowl. It's Tuesday. 

When he entered his bedroom, he smashed his fist into the wall and listened to the plaster crackle underneath his bloodied knuckles, his framed uniform tumbling down from the wall with a loud bang. His cat scrambles from the scene, hiding underneath the couch. He takes a few moments to breathe to himself before reaching out with trembling fingers, dusting the broken glass off the moss green fabric of the one clothing item that helped him survive hell on earth. He brought it up to his face and inhaled, closing his eyes and letting the lingering smell of sea water and oil fill his nostrils. His thumbs dig into the fabric harshly as his shoulders shake, his nose finding that one spot at the juncture between neck and shoulder, that one spot that still smelled like his soldier, his Alex, the spot where he had pressed his cheek and whispered for him to come look for him one day, when the war ended. He cried, weeping against the green with such intensity that his cat crawled back over, bumping his fat head against his arm and looking at him with those large, green eyes. He cradled the creature in his arms and wept, petting across the red fur of his only friend in the world. 

When the animal moved away some time later, Tommy couldn't help but to notice a small, yellowed piece of paper lying there as a stark contrast to his navy-blue carpet. He picks it up, face matted down with a frown, eyebrows drawn tightly together. On the note was an address, in Manchester, scribbled down in a messy handwriting. He turns it over, his breath catching in his throat as he reads one sentence that makes his heart thud against his ribs. 

Please survive, Tom, and then come find me 

He scrambles off the floor quickly, his uniform long forgotten on the floor as he nearly tears apart his dresser to find a decent piece of paper, an envelope and a pen, getting comfortable at the kitchen table as he tries to think of all the things he wants to say, everything he never said. He wants to be angry, furiously scramble down every hateful word he had ever thought of Alex and his fucking face that made Tommy into a fucking poof, hated by his parents and family. He wants to let all his melancholy thoughts rain onto the paper like teardrops, expressing the heaviness inside his chest that never seems to give him a damn break, that keeps thudding just to make itself known. But more than anything he wants to tell Alex how fucking sorry he is, how sorry he is for never saying all the things he should have said. For never sharing a moment of comfort to the stressed out, 22-year-old lad that sat across him at the train and huffed in relief and happiness as Tommy read that fucking speech out to him, annoyed looks from fellow soldiers drowned out by the pure peace on his scarred face. He wants to tell him he loves him, or hates him, maybe a mix of both. How his body never seemed to accept that it wasn't going to spend the rest of its time entangled with those long, war-starved limbs every morning as the sun shone through his dirty windows. He wanted to express the need he felt, yet the paper stayed blank. His hand shaking with effort as he attempts to collect his thoughts for just a moment so he can figure out what to write, how to write. But nothing ever comes to him. 

He goes to bed 10 minutes later, the note safely tucked into the top drawer of his nightstand, folded in half. 

The next morning at 10:00 he makes his way to the pub, begging for his boss to be around doing his daily cleaning before opening at noon. When the broad shouldered, bearded man he spent so many hours talking to about the war that ruined his life finally opens the door for him, his voice catches in his throat. He looks at him, desperate as ever, trying to make him understand what's going on inside his head. The man, Landon, bores his eyes into his pale face, letting his eyes drop to the note clutched in his bony hand. He carefully slides it from his tight clenched fist and reads it, his lips pursed together tightly. 

"Take some time off, lad. I'll see you soon," and with that he closes the door, the paper neatly tucked into his chest-pocket. Tommy breathes out, his throat opening up again to allow air to flow through, reminding him that he is indeed, still alive. The war is over, and he can breathe. He hopes to the Gods up above that he isn't alone on that. 

He packs his bag then, at noon. Not a lot, just a few shirts and trousers, underwear for a couple of days. Deep down he knew he had to return home, that he couldn't stay. He makes sure his cat has enough food, then talks to his neighbours for a few moments and thanks them when they agree to feed him until he comes back. He sits on his bed for a few minutes, breathing heavily as he kicks at the broken pieces of glass on the floor, watching the rare London sun reflect off of them, creating patterns on the walls. Distraction, that's what he needs. Distraction from the reality, that within the next few days he would arrive at some location in Manchester with his suitcase and a five-year-old memory of some oil slicked, young soldier stroking at the back of his head before disappearing into the flood of people. He feels like a complete nut job at that, and he finds himself pacing the floor before he knows it, pieces of glass sliding underneath the soles of his sock clad feet. He was going to do it. 

His head jerks as Big Ben chimes once more, his own clock ticking 13:00. His fingers twitch carefully, sliding closed the latches of his suitcase, the cold metal grounding him from his escaping thoughts. A friendly reminder that he is here, in his room, ready to go off to see Alex. Fucking Alex. 

He ends up leaving his apartment 5 minutes later, his suitcase in hand, dressed in a pair of brown trousers and a white and blue striped shirt, suspenders secured neatly at his shoulders underneath his navy-blue coat. He locks the door after him, sliding his key underneath the "welcome" mat outside his door. He had bought that as a joke two years ago, knowing no one would ever visit to read it. He liked to think of it as an inside joke with himself. But as he stood on it, his leather boots glistening underneath the ugly, yellowish light of his hallway, he thought to himself that Alex might, one day. And he smiled to himself for the first time in forever before making his way down the narrow staircase, finding himself out on the streets of London headed for a train that would take him to God knows where, God knows who. 

There was a lovely lady that greeted him as he rushed inside to purchase a ticket, her blond hair swept behind her shoulders, held in place by a headband. She peeks up at Tommy through her black coated lashes and flashes him a friendly smile, her dainty hands stamping a few tickets. 

"Hello, love. What can I do for you?" She asks, eyeing Tommy carefully as he digs through his pocket and fishes out his money, sliding it across the wooden surface of the ticket booth. She smiles at him and accepts the payment, reaching for a stamp. 

"Where to, sir?" 

He hesitates a bit, sneaking in a quick peek at the clock hanging on the wall, 13:17. He looks back to her and leans closer, licking his lips. 

"First train to Manchester, please. Soon as possible," she nods, looking through the bunches of small tickets to her right. She picks up one between manicured fingernails and stamps it, handing it to him quickly. 

"It leaves in an hour or so, platform 2. You off to see your bird?" Her smile is nothing but friendly, yet it stings as her words really sink in. He pushes himself away from the booth and picks up his suitcase in his sweaty palm, coughing awkwardly. 

"It's a bit more complicated than that, I'm afraid." He doesn’t say another word as he leaves, eyes scanning the platform to find himself a nice seat where he could wait. He already knew that if he left to waste some time while waiting for the train, chances are he'd return home and forget all about the note, Alex, everything. He'd just go back to his routines as usual, and something inside him itched to explore the possibility of having him, all of him, outside of the constricting hold of the war. He wants the validation he had waited for, the validation that the thing between them wasn't because of war, and if it was Tommy begged for it to not end with the war as well. So, when his train could be heard from miles away, whistling in the distance, he thanked the gentleman to his right for lending him the newspaper he had looked through at least 3 times, yet not read a single word of. It reminded him of that speech, Churchill's speech, and all he could see was the glee in those green eyes as he finished, heavy soldier shoulders light as air as the burden on his back disappeared along with the shores of Dunkirk. 

It felt weird as he stepped onto the train, finding a nice spot in the corner by the window, hoisting his bag up onto the shelves above. He looked around, spotting a family of five struggling to get their stroller aboard, the wife hysterical as her two other children disappeared inside the train past Tommy. He hurries over to grab the front of it, assisting her in lifting the child safely onto the floor underneath him, her husband emerging once again with their tickets it hand. He receives a grateful thank you and a bashed request to watch the stroller while they looked for their other two, which he softly accepted. With the stroller at his side he sat back down in his seat, studying the small creature inside it as its eyelids fluttered, revealing a pair of big brown eyes surrounded by long lashes. He smiles softly and lets his hand find its way over to the small hand of the child, stroking across the chubby knuckles, watching the fingers flex experimentally at the soft touch. There is a small teddy bear by its head, brown furred and button eyed, and he reaches for it with tentative fingers. He turns it over and reads the bottom of it, heart fluttering at the sight of a neat hand writing and a small gesture meant for the child, Annabelle. A girl, then. He places the bear back and leans back in his seat, keeping a hold of the stroller as the train starts moving. The woman returns a few minutes later, her hands wrapped tightly around the wrists of two young boys, their eyes cast down in shame as she quietly lectures them. She thanks Tommy again and asks if it's okay that they sit, which he once again accepts. The older one of the two boy's slides onto the seat next to him, feet barely reaching the floor as he swings them back and forth, eyes focused on the scenery outside the window moving past them faster and faster. The younger one sits with his mother, yet his eyes were fixated on Tommy rather than the view. His head cocked, big green eyes shining with curiosity, fingers entangling in each other neatly at his lap. His mother talked to him, telling him how exciting it would be to visit grandma Annie again, after so long, and Tommy allowed himself to peek into the stroller once more, seeing the young girl fast asleep once again. 

"What brings you to Manchester, then?" 

His eyes meet the ones of the mother, her friendly brown eyes fixated on him as she reaches into the stroller to rock her baby girl, her blonde hair swept into a bun at the back of her head. Tommy moves in his seat, contemplating on what to answer her, struggling to find words that wouldn't offend any of them. 

"I'm, uh, hoping to meet an old friend. From the war," she nods slowly, one leg crossed over the other underneath her skirt, hands now folded neatly in her lap much like her son's. The older of the boys crawls out of his seat to peek out the window better, brown curls bouncing atop of his head. His nose barely reaches the edge of the window as he stands on his tiptoes, fingers gripping onto the wooden frame. Tommy smiles carefully and nods towards him. 

"Reminds me of a friend, the older one. Sweet boy," the lady chuckles and eyes her son fondly, reaching over to straighten out his vest with careful, motherly fingers. 

"This little rascal here is Christopher, turned 6 last week. And this," she turns her attention to the smaller one with his knees pulled to his chest in the seat next to her, "Is Edward, he will be 4 in January," he keeps his eyes fixated on Tommy, lighter brown hair swept across his piercing green eyes. "And my name is Sophie," he shakes her hand politely, introducing himself shortly as Thomas. They chat for a little while before her husband returns, lifting Edward into his lap and sharing a quick fond look with his wife before entertaining his two boys with a little game of I spy with my little eye to pass the time. Tommy spaces out then, closing his eyes and attempting to avoid the whole situation he finds himself in right now. He manages to fall asleep, dreaming of green eyes and soft curls. 

He's awoken by the conductor, a friendly lad in his late twenties with fiery ginger hair and skin as pale as snow, dusted with tan freckles across the bridge of his nose and neck. He politely hands Tommy his bag and wishes him well on his trip, blowing his whistle loudly after Tommy stumbles onto the platform, the remains of sleep still stuck in his eyes. He rubs at them carefully, reaching into his pocket to pull out the note, mouthing out each syllable of the address that held onto every single dream, thought or wish he had found himself having for the past years. Clutched tightly inside his hand he keeps it safe, hurrying over to the main road to holler for a taxi, his suitcase between his legs. He spots the couple from the train across the road, Sophie and her husband, and thinks about waving to them but decides against it, dumping his suitcase into the car that pulls up in front of him and slides into the vehicle, handing over the note to the driver. 

"Do you know this address?" He asks, eyes following the movement of an old lady crossing the street, her cane wobbling along the uneven surface of fresh asphalt, her crumpled body dressed in a cream coloured dress drizzled with images of pretty daises and lavender. However, when the taxi driver nudges at him to take the note back he focuses on the older gentleman next to him, eyes full of glittering hope. 

"Yeah, I know it, son. Not too far, nice family from what I have gathered. Lots of visits from family and friends," he muses, checking his mirrors before pulling the car out into the bustling traffic of a city Tommy had never had the pleasure of visiting, yet now that he finds himself here he can't wrap his head around it. His mind is somewhere else, to say the least. 

He can't help but to notice that the taxi with Sophie and her family inside is right in front of them, her hair reflecting the sun directly into Tommy's face as they take a left, the car hitting a deep pot hole as the driver speeds up slightly, fingers gripping the wheel tightly. 

"You visited them before?" He turns his head to the driver, eyes drawn to the white, coarse hair of his moustache as he speaks, the movement of his lips making the hair growth look awkward and messy. He shakes his head no, leaning back in his seat as they make their way out of the city, cosy little farmhouses scattered along the dirt road. The couple's taxi is still in front of them, maybe 10 meters, ahead of them, but then it takes a right up a steep, narrow road and Tommy loses sight of it. Yet, the driver follows up the same road, giving Tommy a clear sight of the taxi once more. He frowns quickly but brushes it off, picking at some dirt collecting under his fingernails. He still has the note in his hand, probably dampened and splotchy with melted ink from the heat and sweat collecting in his nervous hands, yet he squeezes it a bit harder when he spots Sophie and her husband climbing out of their taxi, the two young boys following suit. He abruptly yells for the taxi driver to stop, their car partially covered by the branch of an old willow tree stretching across the road. He sees them enter the house one by one, a dark-haired lady welcoming them inside with a friendly smile and an apron wrapped around her slender body. He swallows thickly and peeks over to the driver, his fingers holding up the note. 

"Is that the address?" He almost curses at himself at how weak and pathetic he sounds as the whispered words travels from his shaking lips to the ear of the elderly man, and his heart pounds painfully in his chest as the man nods, a small smile on his lips. 

"Indeed, it is, son," he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he just sat there with his fingers clenching and unclenching in his lap, the note crumpled by now, squashed inside his hands. The driver cuts the engine and turns to him, almost in a fatherly way, reminding Tommy of that man on the boat, the Moonstone, who welcomed everybody aboard with an unaffected smile and blankets. Tommy would never forget that face, never forget the moment he got kicked out of home and immediately thought of him, wishing he had the time to get to know him before being dragged along to catch that train. But when the driver lays a hand on his forearm and squeezes, he gets pulled out of his thoughts and back into reality. 

"Listen, in all my years working as a taxi driver, I have never come across someone as scared as you, boy. But your eyes, they reek of war and sorrow, lad, and whatever is inside that house is your closure, I can feel it. Now, I want you to get out of my car, pay me, get your bags and go ring that doorbell, got it?" Tommy nods quickly, pushing the door open quickly, grunting at the suddenly very heavy weight, sliding some coins into the man's palm when he turns. 

"I-I hope it's enough, I didn't, uh, I didn't really think about money when I boarded that train, to be honest," he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, shuffling on his feet before nodding and closing the door, collecting his bag from the trunk, watching as the taxi drove off in the other direction. He looked back down the road where they came from, contemplating on just leaving while he could, running down the road with dust clouds behind him, leather shoes dirty and matte, hair a mess. Then he turned to the house, seeing the soft silhouettes of people moving inside, probably getting themselves ready for dinner. He walked, letting his legs carry him past white picket fences and flowers, daisies like the old woman's dress, a lavender-coloured mailbox. His shaky fingers slide open a gate, fumbling to close it behind him, mainly just to waste some extra time, before finding himself in front of a blue door, a freshly cleaned window covered by soft, lace curtains on the inside, a shiny metal handle. There's a doorbell, yet he settles for knocking, needing to keep his hands occupied for a little bit. He waits, his heart racing inside his chest as he hears a voice approaching, blonde hair and brown eyes, familiar, eyeing him confusedly as the door slides open. Sophie has let her hair down, now, the length of is curling over her shoulders and down her back, distracting him for a moment. There's a smile on her plump, red lips as her hand reaches out to touch his shoulder, stroking from the ball of it up to his neck, gripping it softly. 

"Thomas? What on earth are you doing here?" She laughs, eyes glinting under the mid-day sun, her hand continuing a route from his neck back over to the ball of his shoulder before descending lower, curling around his stiff hand to shake it softly. 

"Are you alright? You look a bit flustered, are you lost? If you have an address I could help you find your way," she offers, and without really thinking about his situation he digs into his pocket and hands her the note with the messy handwriting, watching her eyes grow confused, then surprised, then happy as she looks over to him. 

"You're here for Alexander?" She nearly whispers, taking a step towards him to wrap an arm over his shoulder as a tear runs down his cheek, making him reach up and wipe it away before it reached his mouth. He couldn't speak, his voice just wouldn't function, so his breath just hitched softly as he let his head fall forward, leaning on her shoulder softly. The touch of her fingers on his neck was something new yet so eerily familiar, flashes of soldiers rushing around him, rough, calloused fingertips stroking his neck, his hairline, deep, raspy voice filling his ears with a final goodbye. He wanted to sob, wrap his arms around her lithe body and never let go, because she is Sophie, the Sophie Alexander had briefly mentioned on the train back, his sister in London. He wanted to cry against her shoulder and never stop when realizing Christopher, little 6-year-old Christopher with his green eyes and brown curls is his nephew, and the scribbled handwriting on that teddy bear inside Annabelle's stroller is from his soldier, his love, and it all felt like too much. 

"I think he would love to see you again, Thomas. If you're who I think you are, he never thought this day would come. He has waited for so long," the words are whispered softly against his ear and he straightens up, allowing her to cup his face and wipe away the stray tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. She gives him a reassuring smile, one that reminds him of his own sister, and grabs his hand, leading him inside the small house and closing the door behind them. After kicking his shoes off and placing his coat over the back of a chair just to give him a feeling of home, he follows her into the living area where Christopher and Edward are sat on the floor, sliding some wooden train models across the hardwood floor loudly. Christopher looks up to meet his eyes and smiles, the same dimpled smile he spent a week with in Dunkirk, and stands up, train long forgotten on the ground. 

"You're the man, from the train!" He smiles, husky child voice spilling from his mouth, his right front tooth missing. Tommy smiles at him and kneels down, extending his hand to him slowly, watching as he takes a step closer and shakes it with his tiny hand, soft skin tickling against the rugged hand of Tommy. 

"Christopher, right? I must say, you look just like your uncle," Sophie touches his shoulder softly to bring him back up, nodding towards the kitchen where he could see the woman who let them in earlier stirring in a pot, apron still tied around her waist. Up close he could see the youthfulness in her face despite her age, and he turns to Sophie. 

"I'm not sure I can do this, he might now even remember me," he whispers softly, words slipping from his mouth quicker than he'd like. He could hear the woman, grandma Annie he assumes, talk to someone in the kitchen, and his throat closes when he recognizes the answering voice, allowing it to envelop him in memories he thought he had long forgotten. It still sounded the same, perhaps impossibly deeper, but the huskiness of it, the deepness you would struggle to find in someone else was still there, just as vividly as he remembered it. Sophie turned him around and walked him forward, deliberately stopping in the kitchen entrance to allow him to breathe in quickly. 

He was right there, kneeling in front of the oven with a pair of ridiculous pink oven mittens on, splattered with white polka dots all over. His shirt was folded up to reveal tanned arms, tanner than Tommy recalled, with a few tattoos. His hair was a bit longer, curled at the tips just like he remembers, yet a lighter shade of brown now that it wasn't wet or covered in oil. He speaks, says something to his mother briefly before standing up and placing what appeared to be a roast chicken on the stovetop, sliding the oven closed. He turns, green eyes scanning the room before landing on Tommy, face confused for a moment before the beautiful sight of recognition spiked something in them. The oven mittens fell to the floor, and Tommy already felt the tears running down his cheeks as those strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in, hand at the back of his neck with fingers stroking small, circular patterns on the skin there, cheek pressed into the juncture between his neck and shoulder tightly. Someone cried, possibly the two of them, yet he couldn't seem to give a fuck as he wrapped his slim arms around the waist he never thought he would hug ever again, eyes pressed closed tightly as he inhaled, the smell of basil and flowers hitting him, with a musky undertone he remembers from his uniform back home. There is a whisper somewhere, close, and he digs his face further into him to catch what's being said. 

"Oh god, I never thought I'd see you again, I thought you were dead, I was so sure Tom, I kept seeing it in my head, you dead, I dreamt of your pale face lying there in the bloody pacific and I never thought,- oh god," he rambled on, mouth moist against the shell of Tommy's ear and he rips himself away, not caring who saw them as he grips onto those large, tattooed hands he missed so fucking much and brought them up to his face, nosing against the sharp knuckles there as he breathes in heavily, shoulders shaking from the sobs wrecking through his body. 

"No, no, god no, you bloody idiot I'm right here, I'm right fucking here," he whispers, voice shaking dangerously on every syllable as he wraps him up in a hug once again, this time with him on his tiptoes as he embraces his neck, curls tickling his nose as he presses his face into that damn hair he always loved, even when covered in dark oil and slick salt water. They were alone in the kitchen, Sophie having immediately ushered their mother out before sliding the door closed behind them softly, granting them the first alone time they had ever had. Tommy pulls away slowly, his shaky hands stroking over those strong shoulders, fingertips ghosting up the hard muscle of neck before cupping the rough jawline he spent hours just kissing, sucking small love bites into; now all stubbly and rough, grown up. A single tear runs down his cheek now, his eyes scanning over red plump lips, straight nose and settling on those green eyes he himself had dreamed of so many times, nightmares of them lying there in a heap of bloody soldiers, buried in a mass grave somewhere in Germany, alone. They were greener than ever now, shining wetly with tears before slipping closed, moist lips mingling with Tommy's chapped ones, breathing in harshly. He grips his face harder, fingers pulling him in, deeper, needing to feel him pressed against him again, needing to know that this was not some dream about to turn into a nightmare. There is an arm around his lower back, hoisting him up slightly as a rough thigh supports his weight, allowing him to lean against the hard plane of chest in front of him as those lips finally slides deep enough, kisses him with a desperation he had never felt, tongue sliding across his bottom lip sensually, yet sweet enough for Tommy to let out a giggle, a fucking giggle, tangling his hands in dark hair and kissing him deeply, pouring every emotion he couldn't write in that letter into the conversation between their mouths inside this small country kitchen. 

"I never thought I'd see you again," Alex whispers once more, his forehead sliding across Tommy's messily before he steadies himself, kissing across bony shoulders. Tommy doesn't answer, just slides his hands over his shoulders and hums, his heart beating painfully inside his chest, his breath coming out in hurried little pants against Alex's cheek. They were chest to chest now, Alex pushing between Tommy's thighs as they fell open were he had been hoisted onto the kitchen table, tattooed fingers gripping tightly onto his legs for support, mouth continuing its little path from his neck to his jaw and back down again, across collarbones. Tommy forced himself to grab onto his face and pull him up when a wetness spread itself across his left pec, pushing long curls away from tight knitted brows to land a kiss on swollen, red lips, sighing softly. 

"Your mother would be horrified if she found out you nearly shagged a guy over her dinner, mate," that rips a small laugh out of Alex and Tommy feels satisfied at that, lacing their fingers together slowly, squeezing softly, feeling his heart stutter when that steady pulse beats against thumb. He's alive, he's fucking alive. He's strong, well fed and so damn handsome, and so much older than Tommy ever imagined. He never imagined Alex old, as gloomy as he was on that beach, with all good reasons. 

"You'd be surprised at what my mother never finds out," comes the answer a few moments later, and Tommy slides his arse off the table softly to stand in front of him, noticing the height difference that never struck him five years ago. He felt small, for once, overpowered and small, Alex looming over him like a dark shadow under a ray of sun, but he forgets all about it when a rough palm cups his cheek and soft lips touches his cheek, hushed words spoken. 

"Stay for dinner." 

Tommy ended up staying for longer than dinner, because Alex's mother turned out to be the sweetest lady he had ever laid eyes on, feeding him for hours on end after he had unbuttoned his shirt slightly and accidentally exposed bony shoulders and hollow collarbones. He ate nearly three portions of roast chicken before kissing Annie's hand softly and thanking her for the meal and her hospitality, telling her he should get going so he could find a place to sleep. He received a kick in the shin from Alex at that but he ignored it, feeling tears prickling in his eyes when she offered him the couch for the night, her fingers stroking through his hair softly when he hugged her, thanking her once again. Alex watched him the whole time, a fond smile stretched across his face, making his dimples pop obscenely. He followed Annie to the basement and helped her carry pillows and sheets upstairs to the guest bedrooms, a foldable baby crib hooked over his arm. And when he descends down the stairs again and into the living room, he's met with the sight of Alex seated in the tan chair in the far-right corner, Annabelle propped up on his arm with his lips pressed to her forehead, dark voice rumbling out the distinctive words of a nursery rhyme. Tommy leans against the doorframe and watches, chest tightening as Alex pulls her close to his chest and rocks her, fingers stroking over a sock clad foot. He sneaks closer, gripping onto the sides of Alex face to tip his face backwards and place a kiss on his lips, smiling widely. He feels those warm, silky lips respond to his smile with a grin of their own, parting softly to let their breaths mingle. Tommy shuffles around the chair and kneels next to it, stroking his hand over her chubby leg, feeling the warmth of her. Her eyelids flutter at the feeling before she settles back down, limbs curling in on themselves, making both Alex and Tommy coo softly. 

"You want to put her to bed?" Alex whispers softly, leaning back in the chair, his hair spread out across the back like a halo, like an angel. Tommy mentally curses at himself for the cheesiness.  
"I've never put a baby down before," he whispers back, letting her small hand wrap around his pinkie finger like a vice, squeezing hard, fingernails the size of a grain of rice. He leans down to plant a kiss on her knuckles, letting the warm smell of infant envelop him for a moment as they sit there together. Alex moves to get up and Tommy lets him, watching him cradle the baby tightly to his chest as he turns to him and smiles that crooked, dimpled smile, making his heart beat just a little bit faster. The older lad nudges at his arm softly and nods, slowly placing her into Tommy's arms, his hand supporting the back of her head and placing it down softly in the crook of his sharp elbow, watching her stir softly before nuzzling her face against his chest. 

"She's beautiful," Tommy mumbles, smiling nervously at Alex before ducking down to brush his lips over the top of her head, over the anterior fontanelle that had yet to close up, the soft patch of skin giving in under his gentle touch. Alex's hand skids over his shoulder and tickles at the base of his neck, their forehead leaning against each other for a few short seconds before they pull away when someone makes their way downstairs, the two of them moving to stand a respectable distance away from each other. Sophie's blonde head of hair peeks into the dark living room and she smiles when she sees them, her body clad in a silk night gown with a thin organza robe flowing around her legs, tied at the waist. Her skin was paler than Alex's, yet when he looked at her he couldn't help but to see the striking resemblance, wondering to himself how he didn't notice it before, on the train. He should've realized. She wraps an arm over Tommy's shoulders and squeezes softly, lips pressed together in thought as she watches her baby girl curled into a ball in his arms, peace written across her features. 

"We'll put her down, Soph," Alex whispers and leans over to kiss his sister's cheek, his large palm resting over her smaller one, squeezing softly. She smiles gratefully at the two of them before landing a small peck on Tommy's cheek and bidding them both goodnight, her nightwear flowing after her up the stairs with a remarkable grace. Alex motions for him to follow him upstairs, sliding open the second door to the left, Christopher and Edward fast asleep in each their bed. While Tommy rocks the infant in his arms, Alex fixes up her bed a little, arranging the sheets properly and propping up the little bear from her stroller. Tommy lies her down gently, careful fingers placing her head onto the soft mattress, trying not to wake her. She doesn't, luckily, just takes a deep breath through flared nostrils and settles down quickly, fists clenched as she dreams vividly, legs twitching. Alex moves over to the two boys and kisses each of their foreheads, smoothing their hair from their foreheads as he whispers something to each of them that doesn't quite reach Tommy's ears, and the two of them leave the room quietly, the door slightly ajar. Tommy peeks at the clock up on the wall, 22:08, and turns to Alex, smiling softly when his arms circle around his waist, moist kisses pressed silently against his jaw. 

"You should sleep with me, in my room. There's plenty of space," he offers, wiggling his eyebrows with a laugh bubbling from his chest, making Tommy blush softly and avert his gaze, inhaling softly. He likes this, the warmth that radiates from the 27-year-old man in front of him, his heated palms pressing persistently at his waistline through his thin shirt, ice cold fingertips a stark contrast. He allows Alex to tip his head back softly and kiss at his throat, teeth nipping at his Adams apple as he swallows, a soft noise slipping from his lips. 

"Would be a little too obvious, don't you think?" Alex doesn't seem satisfied with the answer as he sinks his teeth into the spot directly below his left ear, Tommy's fingers gripping at his forearms tightly, body going rigid as there's movement in the room to their right. He pushes Alex away just in time for it not to look too suspicious when Annie steps out of the room and lets the door shut softly behind her with a soft click, her kind eyes inspecting the two of them. Tommy awkwardly brings his hand up to scratch at his neck, silently praying for it to be free of bite marks or hickeys, yet Annie doesn't seem to notice anything as she kisses Alex's cheek and bids him good night, doing the same to Tommy before descending downstairs to her own bedroom. Tommy breathes out heavily and slumps against the wooden chest decorated with a lace doily and candles behind him, arse propped onto the old wood as he rubs at his face. Alex grins cheekily and unbuttons his shirt slowly, each inch of skin revealing tattoo upon tattoo, swallows on his chest, butterfly on his stomach; Tommy is mesmerized. Alex backed up slowly, towards the end of the hall where his bedroom must be, shrugs his shirt off and throws it inside, his eyes watching the lanky, awkward boy as he lifts himself up slowly and makes his way over, nervous fingers skittering across the warm skin of his abdomen, hair tickling at his nose. He inhales the smell of him, dragging a paw across his head to grip at his hair, teeth nipping at the shell of his ear, his earlobe; Tommy's breathing is nearly laboured at this point. He tips his head back then, kisses Alex softly, softer than he ever had, fingers removing themselves from his chest, arms now resting against his sides. 

"Goodnight, Alexander," there's a slight playfulness to his voice as he leaves, the back of his head disappearing as he descends down the stairs and heads for the couch, already made up for him by Alex's mum. Alex himself closes the door to his room behind him, falling asleep faster than he had since the morning he got shipped off to Dunkirk 5 years ago. 

Tommy, on the other hand, laid comfortably on the plush couch, arm propped up behind his head and his eyes focused on some stained water damage in the ceiling. This whole thing felt unreal, like some very vivid dream that he would someday wake up from and it would all be a lie, a figment of his imagination still clinging onto a sliver of hope that war had yet to rip away from his fingers. When he closed his eyes all he could see was tattoos, long wisps of curly hair behind tanned ears; a grown-up face, the real version of the face that had haunted his dreams for too long. He fell asleep quite quickly after that, the soothing ticking of the clock above him lulling him into unconsciousness. 

He ended up staying the next day as well, Thursday, Alex and him taking the boys with them into town to do some shopping, ending up down at the pier with ice cream cones in their hands, sitting close together on the dock, thighs pressed against each other. The boys were playing down by a small strip of sand by the shore, chucking sea shells into the dark water, the strong wind blowing their wild mops of hair into crazy shapes. Alex chuckles at them and swings his legs, his hand grabbing onto Tommy's for a split second, fingers stroking across his knuckles. He tells him how he always wanted kids, yet he didn't see the possibility of ever having any, and Tommy told him he had no experience with children being the youngest child of an older couple. Alex informs him that children are great and proceeds to drag him and the boys along to the park, the two of them pushing the boys along on creaking swing sets, not having being used since pre-war. 

They nearly doze off at the dinner table that night, Annie ushering them out of the dining room as she cleared up, and Tommy didn't even think twice when he followed Alex up into his room, bidding the family goodnight once more. Sophie's husband gave them suspicious looks, but they seemed to disappear once Sophie leaned over to whisper something in his ear, hand delicate on his forearm. Tommy never asked, but he somehow knew; what they're doing is under no circumstances okay, he knows that, Alex knows that, yet when he looks at that face he forgets everything about standards and drunken homophobic slurs when he worked late nights at the pub. Instead he falls right back into those strong arms and allow him to take him to bed, hands roaming his chest, back, his thighs; fingers making quick work of buttons, clothes sliding to the floor. They should be careful, yet Tommy can't bring himself to protest, he just lets Alex do as he pleases, body writhing on the mattress in the pitch-black room, Alex's hand covering his mouth to muffle any noise that might wake up the other's, whispering words in his ear that no man should ever whisper to a fellow lad, filthy language dripping off his tongue and onto Tommy, his head spinning. His body is yelling at him, for what he doesn't know, but he pulls Alex to him and pushes his face into his sweaty neck, digging his fingernails into every expanse of skin he came across, emotions heightened dramatically as Alex pulls his fingers away from him and lands a kiss on his mouth, tasting of minty toothpaste and cigarettes, the taste intoxicating enough for Tommy to initiate another kiss, curled up against his naked body, Alex's hand stroking soothingly across his hair, his cheeks. They whisper back and forth, none of them really paying attention to the conversation, too tired to put their minds to it, but when Alex whispers out a sweet "I love you, Tom" he's awake enough to crawl closer and lean their foreheads together, placing a kiss on the tip of his nose, his hushed response of "go to sleep, Alex" barely reaching the other man before he's fast asleep, eyelashes fluttering closed. 

Tommy awakes the next morning to the feeling of heady smoke filling his lungs and nostrils, which causes him to bolt out of bed and onto the hardwood floors, breathing panicked. He looks around the room frantically before feeling the tell-tale fluttering of embarrassment raise in his chest when he realizes it's only Alex, one arm behind his head for support as he balances a cigarette between his fingers, a smirk on those kiss swollen lips. Tommy huffs quietly and crawls back onto the bed, skittering his fingertips across the never-ending plane of soft stomach, tanned from the summer sun and inked black in the shape of a butterfly, which looks kind of ridiculous yet amazing. His eyes meet green ones, and there's a small flash of something there, concern perhaps, before it disappears to be replaced with humour. 

"Morning," the voice was so incredibly deep, rumbling through his chest like the song of an opera singer, tingling through his muscles like feathers, only to settle comfortably in his stomach, making him feel like a love-struck 14-year-old all over again. He reaches over and snatches the fag out of his fingers, placing it between teeth mid-suck, the smoke curling through his lungs. He didn't really smoke, not anymore, all it did was remind him of war and death and all his mates with their desperate eyes and reaching hands as they disappeared into flames, skin melting on bones in a horrible stench. He scrunches up his nose and inhales once more, forcing the images away, opting to look at Alex instead, linking the feel of nicotine to the chiselled face in front of him, covered in a dark layer of stubble all along a sharp jaw line and dimpled cheeks. He passes the cigarette back and pushes a few stray hairs away from his own forehead as they tickle at his eyebrows, his naked abdomen littered with goose bumps as cool air flows through the window, plaid curtains dancing in the wind. He moves to close it, sliding the latches shut tightly before crawling back into bed, lying comfortably on his side, face towards Alex. He watches him for a second, licking his dry and cracked lips, sliding his hand over a strong, muscled thigh, squeezing. 

"I have to go home, today," it hangs there in the air for a while, neither of them saying a word as the statement sinks in, reality creeping up on them finally, shaking them out of the love trance they have found themselves in for the past two days. Tommy knew he had to leave at some point, return to his old life of wiping tables and taking orders, serving up drinks to men whom cared so little about him and his wellbeing that they kept reminding him of the seven days of nonstop hell he went through, and they did it with such ease it made him sick to his stomach, his eyes watering at the thought. Damn Landon for paying him such good money, or else he'd be gone a long time ago. 

"I know," Alex answers after a few minutes, his eyes fixated on the apple trees outside in their garden, red fruits glistening with early morning moisture, green leaves rustling as another heavy breeze flows through them. Tommy stays silent, reaching a hand out to wrap around his waist and pull him closer, lips pressing small, apologetic kisses to his chest and neck, hair tickling at his chin. He doesn't have to look at the older lad to know that he's smiling, his arm slung casually around Tommy's shoulders, fingertips sliding across his soft, untouched skin, the one place where the war failed to mark him up permanently. Alex inhales deeply, his body shaking softly, fingers reaching over to the nightstand to put out his cigarette before he rolls on top of Tommy and kisses him, large hands framing his face and holding him there, mouth relentlessly attacking him with small bites and swipes of his tongue, his upper body flushing a light pink at the assault. When he's let go, Alex moves off the bed to slide on a pair of pants, navy blue ones, shoving his white shirt into it messily before pulling on a pair of socks, hair tumbling into his face as he bends over. Tommy saunters over to him and lands a quick, playful smack on his behind, a large smile covering his face when Alex emerges to scold him, an embarrassed smile on his face. 

"I'm starving, get your arse dressed for breakfast. Sneaky bastard," he points a finger at Tommy before leaving the room, the clattering of pots and pans being heard from downstairs along with quiet murmurs and the static noise of a radio. Tommy digs into his suitcase and pulls on his last outfit, a pair of grey slacks he usually wore to work, held up by a wide leather belt to prevent them from sliding down his slim hips. He tucked a blue shirt into it, rolling the sleeves up slightly above his elbows before running his fingers through his hair a couple of times, detangling it. He joined the others shortly after, surprising himself and everyone else when he lifted Edward up and placed him on his hip, ruffling at his shaggy sleeping hair quickly with a small smile on his lips. Sophie glanced quickly at the two of them and sipped her tea slowly, her husband Linc sitting down in the chair next to her with Annabelle on his arm, her eyes wide open as he tickled at her belly softly. There was tension, Tommy could tell, but when Alex entered from the kitchen and bid them all a good morning with Christopher propped up on his back, Sophie cracked a small smile and chuckled softly and they all settled down by the table as Annie brought out the fried goods. Tommy came to realize he had grown remarkably fond of these people in two very short days, the two boys bickering over who gets the biggest piece of bread, Annabelle's nonstop babbling when no one paid attention to her; Sophie who kept subtly touching him to make sure he was alright, eyeing him with such affection his heart swelled painfully underneath the confines of his ribs. And when he looks up from his teacup and his eyes meet Alex's, he understands that returning to his dim London apartment was going to be a challenge his body would not take well to for a long time. 

Alex helped him pack, after breakfast. They did so in a comfortable silence, Alex folding his shirts neatly, pressing them to his chest before sliding them into his suitcase. Tommy watched him for a while, fingers preoccupied with tangling his suspenders around his wrist before sliding them neatly down on top of his shirts, arm brushing against the other man. Alex was the one who closed the case and slid the latches closed firmly, his hands lingering on the weathered leather. 

"You should come back sometime," he states, more of a command than a question in all reality, and Tommy felt his throat close up and that, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. Alex looks up at him, green glazed wet as he straightens up, a deep frown settling between his eyebrows, his hands reaching out to Tommy. He glances at him, throat still clogged up, but he takes his hands in his and brings them to his face, kissing each of those prominent knuckles slowly, lips lingering on warm skin. He wanted to cry, he could feel it tightening painfully in his chest and jaw, yet he just pushed his face into Alex's neck and breathed in the smell of him, fingers dropping his hands to grip at his shirt. Strong arms wound around his lower back to hold him close, fingers tugging his shirt out of his pants so they can stroke across the warm expanse of his hips, short clipped nails dragging at the skin. Tommy's eyes slide closed, a rugged breath forcing itself past his cracked lips as he works out something to say, anything. 

"I love you, too," Alex's shoulders shake slightly as Tommy admits it, not having answered him last night, too tired to comprehend the feeling in his chest that he could no longer deny. He had loved him the moment he grabbed onto that hand and pulled him out of the water, away from his certain death of getting crushed by that ship. When those eyes locked with his and didn't rat him out for hiding away with the frog, he knew he couldn't leave that boy, so he found something to grasp onto and he didn't let go. Not even when his soldier let him go at that train station and disappeared amongst the other soldiers, cheeks wet with both Tommy's tears and his own, did he stop loving him. He never would, probably. 

Alex rides with him to the train station, accompanied by the rest of his family in a different taxi. They stay silent the entire ride, Tommy smiling softly to the taxi driver, the same one that had dropped him off just two days ago, his moustache now clean shaven and baby smooth. He just nodded a quick goodbye to them when they reached their destination, winking quickly at Tommy before driving off.  
"When does your train leave?" Alex mumbles softly, his hand clasping Tommy's suitcase tightly in his fist, knuckles nearly white. Tommy checks the ticket he just bought, lips pursed tightly as he hears it approach. 

"Ten minutes," he answers, shoulders tense as he looks down at his shoes, trying his best not to cry in front of the large crown of people around them. Alex shuffles closer, the large sleeves of his jacket concealing it as he reaches over and links their fingers together, his cold fingertips stroking over Tommy's knuckles. Annie comes rushing over with Christopher and Edward trailing behind her, Sophie and her husband paying the taxi driver with Annabelle tucked into her stroller. 

"Honey, do assure me you'll be back some time, yes? It's been such a pleasure having you over," she reaches for him and hugs him tightly, motherly almost, her arms tight around his neck. He slides his hand from Alex and wraps them around her waist, pulling her close to him as he nods feverishly, tears threatening to spill. 

"Yes, yes, of course. Going to miss mother's cooking, right?" There's a glint in her eyes that can only be described as affection as she cups his cheek and smiles, moving to grab a hold of Edward's shoulder when he tries to scamper off. Sophie approaches him quickly, stroller left behind with Linc, and she kisses his cheek softly and runs a hand through his hair, eyes wet with tears. She doesn't say anything immediately, she just links their arms together and stands at his side, a heavy silence between them as the train arrives, steam curling at their feet. Christopher kicks at a rock on the ground before looking up at Tommy, his eyes squinting at the relentless autumn sun, his fingers tangling in his sleeve. 

"Will you be back, mister Tommy?" He asks, 6-year-old innocence glowing like a beacon at Tommy as he crouches down to poke his nose, crooked smile shining brightly. 

"Of course I will, buddy. Your uncle Alex would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't," he's rewarded with a large grin and a giggle before he stands back up, sighing as the conductor blows his whistle loudly, the last remains of passengers crowding onto the train. Annie bids him a last goodbye before taking the boys and Linc with her, making their way towards the grocery store across the street. Tommy looks after them before he turns towards Alex who is staring defiantly at the ground, jaw locked tightly, green eyes hidden behind closed eyelids. He reaches out to touch his arm, his eyes finally opening to look at Tommy, sadness filling them to the brim as he moves closer and wraps him up in a hug, cheeks pressed together. Tommy holds him close, smiling softly as Alex lands a soft peck on his cheek when nobody's watching before pulling away, hands lingering on his forearm. 

"I'll see you around, yeah?" Tommy can't find it in him to answer so he just nods shortly, watching Alex back away slowly with a sad smile on his face before turning around, running across the street to join his family, Annie's hand rubbing at his back with a concerned look on her face. There's another whistle from the conductor, the last call. 

"You better get on the train, love, or you're never getting home," he turns to Sophie who's still there next to him and smiles softly at her, bending to pick up his suitcase from the scratchy asphalt. She loops an arm around his neck and hugs him quickly before grabbing his hand, slipping something into his palm. He looks down at bites into his lip as he recognises the yellowed piece of paper with smudged ink on it, handwriting curling delicately across the surface, and when he looks up at her again she's nearly crying, arms wrapped around herself tightly. 

"You saved my brother more than once, and for that I will be eternally grateful. What you two have might not be considered... correct, but as far as I'm concerned you're just staying alive."  
The statement hangs in the air as she whispers a soft goodbye and walks away. His feet carry him to the train just in time, squeezing in past a group of teenagers settled on the floor, finding a seat in the very corner of the cart. He leans back against the leather and exhales softly, his suitcase placed securely between his knees, his head leaned back. The train whistles loudly as it picks up speed, leaving Manchester behind. 

His apartment seemed even darker than usual when he entered, coat thrown over the chair and shoes toed flush against the wall. He lights a candle in the living room for once, settling himself down on the couch after chucking his suitcase into the bedroom, feet stepping onto the forgotten pieces of glass scattered across the carpet. He'd have to clean that soon. 

His cat saunters over, stroking his at body across his leg before jumping up on the couch next to him, ginger fur unusually fluffy between his fingers as he scratches behind his ear, listening to the deep purrs erupting from the creature. Those green eyes peer up at him, making his heart swell, and he leans down to kiss its head softly, murmuring against his skin. 

"You didn't break anything, did you, Alex?" It seems ridiculous to call the cat by its name now, not needing an excuse to mention that name on a daily basis thanks to the war fucking him over all those years ago, but he shrugged off the thought as the cat snuggled into a pillow and fell asleep, toes curled tightly against the scratchy fabric of the couch. He gets up and enters the kitchen, seeing the bowl filled to the brim and his water clean and still cold, mentally thanking his neighbours before sliding the fridge open, grabbing a beer from the back. He intends to go back into the living room, read a book or something before hitting the sack, yet the pen and paper from two days ago still laid out on the kitchen table catches his eye, ink untouched by greedy animal paws. He pops his beer open and sits down, eyeing the paper slowly before reaching for the pen, smooth ink staining the paper as he writes, occasional sips of his beer spilling droplets across the white, yet he doesn't stop, not until he's filled two and a half pages of his deepest thoughts, everything he was too quiet to voice to Alex all those years ago, everything he had wanted to say when those pink mittens fell to the kitchen floor and he was met with a man so different yet so alike from the man he parted from in Weymouth. He folds the papers neatly and stuffs them into the envelope, sealing it shut before placing it on the table, taking a long swig from his beer, his brain going over all the hurried words he had scribbled onto that paper, smiling slightly to himself as he realised Alex would probably think he'd gone mental, reading all the words he finally found it in himself to write down. He went to bed then, thinking about the letter, getting up to toss it in the trash at 3. Waking up at 5:30 to place it back on the table. Got up at 9 to get ready for work, stared at the envelope. Tossed it again, only to pick it back up 10 minutes later. He left home at 11:30, heading for work. 

He stopped by the post office on the way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to point out how super duper tired I was whenever I wrote this thing, which I think you can notice preeeeetty well in the style of writing. However, I am kinda really happy with this thing sooo hopefully I'll post more soon. I don't think it's gonna be super long, but ayeee maybe a few more chapters? Just for my own satisfaction, finally finishing a story and all that jazz. Please leave a comment below, it's deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyeeed


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayy, so I wasn't originally going to cut this into smaller pieces because I was an idiot and thought I would finish it quite quickly so I could post it all... Turns out I was so fucking wrong, and I felt really bad for not posting for 3 fucking weeks, soooo this is a filler? I guess? It's not very long, and I'd say it's a bit different than the first part... Maybe... Anywayssss, Thank you all for the lovely comments and all the kudos, and the hits! It's so fucking appreciated, let me tell you. Anyways, enjoy this little filler thingy!

Dear Alex, 

It's not the same without you by my side, not anymore. It's crazy to think I actually got used to your absence after our time on Dunkirk, I felt like you were a part of me that could never get taken away. But it did take you away, and no matter how many times I thought of you, wished to fucking God himself for you to just come back, just be there. Mainly, I wished you had never left at all. 

I don't handle change very well, Alexander, which is why I was so surprised to enjoy the change you brought into my life. I always feel lost during times of change, like I did for our faithful week together in France, yet when I saw your face again after five years I changed in two seconds. My life had been miserable for so many years, without you, and I went from being the timid and shy boy in the bar wiping down tables to becoming the Tommy you made me into, and I love it so much. You make me who I am, as cheesy as it sounds. I can sense the smirk on your face as you read this already. 

My last letter was long, and I apologize for what I might have written in there, but I can't really remember what I wrote. My brain was tired and I got lost in my words, I just wanted you to know absolutely everything. I had so many regrets, I was pent up with anger and sadness, and I think I might have taken that out on you, so I apologize for that. 

I hope to see you soon, London seems even more gloomy than it was before now that I know what it's like to have you next to me, 

Your Tommy 

~ 

December crept up quicker than they'd liked, snow flurrying in the air, covering the ground. Alex had never been a fan of winter, not really, the snow collecting around his boots as he made his way to the barn reminding him too much of war, his feet sinking deep down into the constricting white. He clenched his jaw defiantly and walked faster, ripping the blue wooden door open and making his way inside, the winter air blowing it shut behind him with a loud bang. 

Inside the house, Annie was cooking up dinner, humming along to the static melody pouring out of their radio, her fingers twisting the nub carefully whenever the signal got lost to the relentless blizzard outside. She peeked out the window, smiling softly as Alex returns from the barn, his flower-patterned shirt peppered with snowflakes on each shoulder. She helps him carry the firewood into the living room, kissing his cheek as a thank you before returning to the kitchen, mashing potatoes while singing along to The Andrews Sisters, hips swinging to the tune. 

Tattooed fingers struggle with matches for a short while before finally succeeding in lighting the wood on fire, the soft crackling soothing his tense shoulders as he slides the door shut, sighing contently. The cold had picked up over the last few weeks, leaving their house cold and unwelcome, their funds too insufficient to afford firewood from the farmer at the market. Alex refused to think of it as a problem, yet he knew that if he didn't land a job soon, Christmas this year would not be very merry. So, when he reluctantly walked up to his mother and wrapped his arms around her, tears pressing at the back of his eyelids that he rapidly attempted to blink away, his voice wavered softly on each syllable he forced past his lips. 

"If I don't land a job soon, we might have to move," the words hung there in the air for a while. Annie stopped her stirring, the mashed potatoes bubbling ominously on the stovetop, her fingers moving to grip the edge of the kitchen counter softly. She didn't answer him, she just turned to look at him, her hands moving up to cup his cheeks lovingly, eyes roaming across his face. He was at least a head taller than her and twice as wide, her lithe frame mimicking her daughters in many ways, Alex recalls Tommy mentioning how much alike they were. But when he looked at his mother, the bags under her eyes, the grey hairs popping up in-between each brown one, her dried out hands and her wrinkled lips, he couldn't help but to think that she didn't even mimic herself, at least not what she once was. She looked like an empty shell of the woman that raised him and Sophie alone, accepting her faith after Alex's father wrapped a noose around his neck and jumped off the staircase, blonde hair flopping across his pale forehead, brown eyes wide and terrified. "The war killed him", Alex remembers his mother explaining, a hand stroking over his head, his gravestone reading: 'Michael Alexander Whitmore, born 12.04.1890, died 21.11.1921'. The year plagued his father for three whole years after its end, leaving his mother alone with a 6-year-old and a 4-year-old. Sophie, being the older one, had wrapped a hand in his coat and whispered; "Father was troubled, he's safe now, Alexander". 

He squeezes his eyes shut at the memory, forcing it from his mind, fingers shaking as they twist forcefully in his mother's apron, his shoulders shaking with each heaving breath he took. He refused to think of his mother like this, like some old lady who accepted that her husband let her down and left her alone, penniless and heartbroken with two children to care for. He knew it wasn't true, it never would be, because his mother had defied all odds and made a life for them all, she had been the one to cut the rope, the one who dragged his body across the floor and covered it with a sheet. She wrote a eulogy for him, a beautiful one from what Alex can remember, and she fucking stood there in the church and spoke directly to him, her back straight and her chin held high. She would never let a man break her down, he realised, and when she kissed her gloved palm and pressed it to his cheek one last time with the words "you fought well, Michael" as the only departing before she grabbed each of their hands and led them out of the church, he knew his mother was twice the man his father ever was. He was bloody proud of her, that he was. 

Annie had moved away from him, stood in the kitchen entrance now, her gaze fixated on the staircase, arms folded across her chest. She could still see him hanging there, Alex was sure of it, but she showed no emotion when she turned back to him and gave him a soft, motherly smile, a rosy colour arising in her face. She slid the mash of the stove and turned it off with careful fingers, pulling her apron off, all in complete silence. Alex just watched her, hands clasped together at his front, a frown between his eyebrows aging him at least 5 years as he hung her apron up for her, his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip. 

They ate dinner together in the same gloomy, heavy silence, nothing but the occasional slurp or loud swallow filling the air around them, cutlery scratching against porcelain. Annie appeared to be deep in thought, slowly chewing on her meat as she stares off into the distance, green eyes sparkling as the sun reflects in them. Just as Alex was about to ask her if she's okay, she shakes herself loose from her train of thoughts, focusing on her food once again. 

"It might not be all that bad," Alex looks at her confusedly, his tongue attempting to shove a piece of meat out from between his teeth, elbows leaning against the table. She meets his eyes and shrugs softly, a soft sigh leaving her tired body with a careful whoosh of air. She reaches out for him, hands clasping his tightly, chapped nails drawing patters on his wrists. 

"Moving, I mean. I love this house, Alex, but all it does these days is remind me of your father, and I know you've been holding back from marriage because you don't want me to be alone-" 

"That's not why I've been holding back, mum, believe me," she bows her head, eyes searching the table top for the letter Alex left there this morning, nothing visible but a small "Your Tommy" at the very bottom, scribbled in neat handwriting. She sucks her bottom lip in tightly and nods slowly, pushing her chair out and grabbing their plates, excusing herself quietly as she moves to do the dishes, her shoulders tense again. He squeezes his eyes shut and covers his face with his palms, callouses scratching against his unshaved face, fingers pushing at his eyes until colours dance inside his eyelids, making him dizzy. He stands slowly, then, contemplating between just leaving his mother to herself or confront her about the massive, pink elephant in the room, and when he steps up to her and grabs the dishes from her hands he can hear the small sob forcing itself from her lungs, her soaped hands covering her mouth as she weeps, bangs falling into her eyes. He wraps her up in his arms and hooks his chin over her head, letting her cry silently against his neck, arms circling his waist and nails scratching at the fabric of his shirt. 

"You have three beautiful, healthy grandchildren in London, supported by their father with a steady income and their mother who gives them the world and then some more. And when they grow up, they'll have babies of their own, yeah? But me? I don't see myself that way, mum, I can't," he slowly explains, each word leaving him with a heavy feeling of emptiness, finally admitting to his mother the dreadful feeling he had learned to accept after kissing Tommy goodnight in Dunkirk, after kissing him goodnight here in Manchester, in his own fucking bed. She grabs onto him tighter and pulls him closer to her, nose pressing into the base of his neck as she breaths shakily, hands now stroking up and down his back, mimicking the movements he's doing on her. 

"I just want you to be safe, baby, that's all," she pulls away and looks at him, her hands stroking strands of hair out of his face so she can have a proper look at him, her green eyes shining with tears much like his own. He nods understandingly at her, his stomach knotting painfully as she sniffles softly, his arm wrapping over her shoulders. 

"I feel safe with him, mum. Always have," her eyes slip closed, tears running down her cheeks and settling on her lips, saltiness wiped away by the sleeve of her sweater messily. "He saved my life, you know," the smile that covers her face then is nearly blinding, the beauty of her features finally being justified for the first time in a long time, her head nodding feverishly as she pulls him down to kiss his cheek, cradling his head in her hands. 

"My beautiful baby boy," the soft whisper brushes against his temple and he smiles widely, the words of acceptance not being voiced yet understood between the two of them, an unspoken agreement between mother and son. He felt it, her eyes on his back as he picked up the letter and smoothed over the edges with his fingertips, a fond smile making its way across his face when he reads it once more. She continues with the dishes when he leans over to her and kisses her cheek softly, telling her he's heading to bed and that he'll see her in the morning. The letter is folded neatly into his pocket when he closes the door to his room and lights the candle on his desk, refusing to use more electricity than needed that would make their already high bills skyrocket. The yellow shimmer of light ghosts across his features as he sits down, fingers tucking a cigarette in between his lips, his chest hitting the wooden surface when he leans over to light it with the candle flame, watching it burn bright orange as he inhales deeply. He unfolds the letter quickly and looks over it for what must be the 20th time, a small smile creeping onto his face as he reads the carefully selected words from the crisp piece of paper, the smell of Tommy lingering next to a stale smell of cat food and warm beer. He couldn't help but to chuckle softly. 

He really wants to write Tommy back, of course he does, yet he sits there with his words caught in his throat, blocked out by the smoke settling comfortably in his lungs, his lips pursed tightly. He puts the letter aside quickly and squashes the cigarette bud against his desk to put it out, throwing it out the window quickly. He didn't fall asleep immediately after lying down, his brain too busy worrying itself with images of Tommy, crooked teeth and freckled cheeks, crinkled eyes as he laughs. But when he does fall asleep, there's images of him there too, with Tommy, his lips pressed to his forehead on what appears to be a boat, wind blowing through dark curls. Succumbed to the heavy power of sleep, his mouth gives a weak twitch that somewhat resembles a smile. 

He wakes up unusually early the next morning, already at the breakfast table with a cup of tea and a bowl of lumpy oatmeal, his mind busy with all the words he wants to write, his hand frantically noting down each one on a splotchy piece of paper. His mother had laid it out for him last night, it seemed, because it was there when he came down 15 minutes ago with the pen all ready to go. He mentally thanked her for that. She came down the stairs just as he wrapped up the letter, the tip of the pen caught between his teeth as he reads through it, eyes wide in concentration. He was never a good reader, or writer, yet when he knew he was writing to Tommy the words just seemed to flow much easier, his thoughts transporting from his brain to his fingertips faster than he'd like, so when he read through it he nearly blushed at his own sappiness, mumbling distraught to himself. His mother casts him a quick glance, a small smile stretching over her face, her hands carefully tying the apron around her middle.  
"For Tommy, I'm guessing?" He just hums in confirmation, shoving a large spoon of oatmeal into his mouth, a small drop landing on the paper as he eats messily, fingers toying with the teabag in his cup. His mother walks over and kisses him on the forehead softly, tutting annoyedly as she wipes the stains from his breakfast off the paper, flicking his nose quickly. 

"Can't send a letter full of food, Alexander, I raised you better than that. Mustn't give Tommy the impression that he deserves no better than a stained piece of paper with sappy love confessions, now, can you?" He nearly chokes on his food as she chuckles happily and exits the kitchen, the laughter descending down the stairs to the basement along with her, leaving him alone in the kitchen as he spluttered, gulping down large amounts of tea way too quickly, the hot liquid burning his throat. His mother was so daft, sometimes, he thought to himself as his throat throbbed. He placed the letter into an envelope neatly, licking at the lining before pressing it closed, scribbling down the address and his name with soft, concentrated letters. As he held it in his hands, he played with the sharp edges of it, scooping one last spoon of oatmeal into his mouth, hissing as he cuts himself on the paper. Takes another large gulp of tea to numb the pain a bit. It didn't work very well, so he chose to ignore it in favour of cleaning up the dishes after himself, giving up on the radio after attempting to turn it on a couple of times. He peeks out the window, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth thoughtfully, wiping his soapy hands on the towel quickly. His mother emerged from the basement, her hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head, small strands of hair curling around her face gracefully, framing her face.  
"You should go to town in the morning, post the letter. I'll go with you, yeah? I need to do some shopping," he smiles softly at her and nods. 

They head down the next morning, fetching a taxi at 09:43, Alex dutifully assisting his mother as she steps into the car, her large winter coat brushing against him as she settles down next to him, a smile on her face. The trip is relatively silent, his gloved hands clutching at the letter hidden in his breast pocket, his breath coming in ghostly breaths against the cool air, his nose stuffy and runny as he reaches over to squeeze his mother's hand. She gives him a quick smile and squeezes back before looking out the window, the crisp snow outside untouched and beautiful, stretching smoothly across miles upon miles of soil. He coughs lowly. 

She follows him into the post office, sitting in the chair to his right as they wait for their turn, his leg jumping as he waits for the pretty bird behind the counter to call their number. He peeks at the letter quickly and bites his lip, flashes of hazel eyes scanning oatmeal stained paper with a grin stretching over crooked, youthful teeth, reading glasses perched atop a wide nose speckled with dark freckles. His hearth clenches painfully as number 11 is called, and he looks at their note, the number 12 written in machine typed writing, ink black and stark. He looks at the man that walks up to the counter, no older than 45 surely, messy blonde hair and baby blue eyes and he doesn't really want to be next, not really, but then his mother grab his arm and tugs it, motioning for him to walk over, it's his turn. He swallows down heavily and gets up from the chair, turning to his mother as she moves to join him, her arm linked with his. He doesn't move, though, he just stands there, frozen, gloved hands clenching tightly when he makes the decision to turn to her, face pale and nose red from illness. 

"I want to see his reaction as he reads the letter," he blurts out, surprised by his own words, the lady behind the glass window calling out for number 12 again, the rest of the customers getting impatient as they send him dirty looks. His mother frowns quickly but it disappears almost immediately, her hand grabbing his and she leads him out of the post office, the door chiming happily as they scramble out into the cold streets, snow whirling painfully against their reddened cheeks. 

"Mum, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have," she chuckles at him and shakes her head as he keeps talking, "let's just go inside and post the letter, then we'll shop, aye? I want those chicken thighs from Mr. Kirkham, I'll even make dinner tonight-" She places a hand upon his chest to silence him, her eyelashes blinking away the melted snowflakes whipping against her face, an encouraging smile showing. 

"There's a train leaving in 12 minutes," he splutters quietly and moves closer to her, the wind howling loudly as it picks up, snowflakes the size of walnuts flurrying through the air in a messy chaos, settling upon his hair, melting against his forehead. He wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket, suede scratching against dry winter skin. 

"That's ludicrous, I haven't even packed, I need to get a job so we can pay our bills," he leans closer to her and grabs onto her shoulders, looming over her as their warm breaths mingle, his eyes intense and harsh, "I can't just leave now, yeah?" 

She just shakes her head and pushes him away, a playful smile on her face as she wraps her coat tighter around her and nuzzles her face into the scarf thrown around her shoulders, motherly green eyes peering at him over the blue fabric. 

"Send Tommy all my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this tiny part, please feel free to leave some comments down below or something, it's always appreciated! I hope to post the next part soon, but please bear with me and my slow ass hahaha.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took too long, ugh. So sorry.

He makes it onto the train by mere seconds, the conductor eyeing him suspiciously as he stumbles onto the train with his ticket in hand, hair sticking to his face, tips no longer curly, just flat. He pushes the ticket into his hand and grins, shivering as cold-water seeps under his jacket, teeth clattering. The conductor stamps it without a word and hands it back to him, a friendly hand clapping his shoulder as he moves past him, mumbling quietly for him to find a seat and settle down for the ride, which Alex complies to without any further complaints. The only free seat is one next to an elderly lady, flowers perched in her lap, wrapped in brown paper tied up with a string, her grey hair curling delicately around her wrinkled face. She gives him a small smile and a nod when he sits down, careful not to let his naturally large frame crowd her up against the window, and he politely shrugs his jacket off and places it on the floor, letting it drip onto the cheap linoleum floor beneath their feet. 

During the ride, he manages to doze off for a while, head lulling back and forth to the rhythm of the train going steady, the low hissing sound of steam surrounding him in a comfortable, constant noise for him to latch his attention onto. Yet, when small hands clutch onto his shoulder and jostles him awake, the hissing noise intensifies and then dies out completely, and he looks out the window to find that they have stopped, the sign above the ratty old station reading "Lichfield" in big, bold letters. He blinks a couple of times and rubs his eyes with dry knuckles, eyes meeting the old woman's. 

"I just thought I'd wake you so you didn't miss your stop, love, I'm sorry," she apologizes quickly when he shakes his head, but he just grabs onto her hand and squeezes it softly, a small friendly smile occupying his tired face. 

"It's alright, ma'am, I appreciate it. I'm hopping off in London, though," she nods and settles back in her seat, the flowers now stood horizontally against her legs. When he dozes off once more, they had just passed through Birmingham. 

Thanks to the old lady, he barely manages to hurl himself off the train before the doors close, the chaos of London train station hitting him like a brick as he stumbles onto the platform with his jacket thrown over his arm, his hair having dried in awkward shapes as it had been squashed against the seat, standing up in all directions at the back of his head. He attempts to figure out where to go next, eyes scanning the area wildly for any sort of directions, but the herd of people crowding in around him kept disrupting him, so he ended up grabbing onto a young girl at the edge of the platform, no older than 22, and ask her for directions, blushing slightly when he realised he didn't really know where he was going. He then remembered the letter and pulled it out of his pocket, having her read the address and thankfully manage to point him in the right direction, a light shade of rosy pink flushing over her cheeks as he thanked her by pressing a kiss to her hand and disappearing down the nearest staircase. It wasn't too far, it turned out, as he stopped outside a typical, mainstream London apartment block, the dark stone looking weary in the late afternoon sun, reflecting in the glass windows. There were no lights on, he realised, the entire building enveloped in a distinct darkness, and he let out an exasperated sigh at the realization that he isn't even bloody home. His hands wound themselves into his hair, still damp from the snow back home, grabbing onto the wiry wisps falling into his face and giving them a good tug, his eyes pressed closed as he thinks, where the hell could he be, I have to find him. And then he thinks back to their last morning together, Tommy had woken up before him, talking softly to him as he dusted light touches over his face, over his fluttering eyelashes.  "I work at a pub, but I never see faces as beautiful as yours". The bloody pub. He sets off down the streets, boots skidding along the solid ice littering the cobblestone, his breath coming in rapid puffs of cool smoke from his lips as he rounds the corner, three different bars randomly placed along the street, each one decorated with some ugly neon sign blinking its name for everyone to see. He decides to start at the last one, a pretty large one at the end of the street, loud and obnoxious as any proper London pub would be, the sound of drunken singing and loud conversations bleeding out into the streets through the open door, glasses clanking together and beer sloshing. It was crowded in there, all the booths occupied by beer bellied old men ogling the pretty barmaid, some cute blonde with big, blue eyes that would send you a sultry look the minute you stepped in the door. He didn't need to stay long to figure out that this was not the type of pub Tommy would work in, ever. 

Bar number two was small, the old neon sign missing a letter, static noises hissing whenever it attempted to light up along with the other letters and failed miserably, and Alex could see Tommy working here. Inside there were a few men seated at the bar, crowding together tightly as someone tuned the radio, muffled voices escaping through the old speakers, matted down by dust and moisture from wear. There didn't appear to be someone behind the bar at that moment, pans clanking from what he assumed would be the kitchen, so he took a seat in one of the few booths along the back wall and pulled the collar of his jacket up around his face, chewing on his lip as he waited for Tommy to show up, all freckles and hazel eyes and dark hair, yet all he got was a large, bearded man in a tight fitted t-shirt, kitchen towel tucked into his front pocket as he served the customers up a second round of beers at their command. He was about to get up and leave when the customers started yelling and cheering as the radio host spoke of something Alex hadn't been bothered to listen to, but it was when the bartender turned and yelled for some other employee that his heart started to beat a bit faster, because the kitchen door swung open to reveal skinny arms carrying three heavy trays of glasses. A pair of thin framed, black glasses was perched upon the bridge of a nose he just knew he had kissed at least a dozen times in his dreams, and there were crooked teeth giving the man a soft smile as he nearly dropped the trays to the floor, and then there was the same boy scurrying back to the kitchen again, head bowed down in embarrassment. 

"Stop fuckin' around, Tommy! These shits were expensive, I tell ya," Alex didn't think his heart could beat this fast without sending him into cardiac arrest, and it suddenly felt like the room was a bit hotter than it was before, his fingers loosening the top buttons of his thin, white shirt, a peak of swallow tattoos showing through. He got up from his seat and sauntered over to the man, smiling sheepishly at him as he slid onto a bar stool and motioned for him to come over, his elbows perched upon the scratchy bar surface, stained and chipped from years and years of wear. Alex quite liked it. 

"Can I get you a pint, lad?" The man asks him, using the rag previously in his pocket to wipe the freshly cleaned glasses brought out by Tommy, his Tommy, long and nimble fingers wiping away the droplets of dishwater. Alex shakes his head no and thanks him quietly, pulling the letter out of his jacket and placing it on the bar, the front decorated with a simple handwriting and the word "Tommy". The man glances down on it with furrowed brows, tongue swiping over his bottom lip in thought, his eyes moving to roam over Alex quickly. 

"If you could just make sure Tommy gets this, yeah? I need him to see it," he doesn't receive an answer before he's walking out of the bar, hands tucked into his pockets to shield them from the cold, leaning against a street light as he waits, waits for Tommy. 

It doesn't take long for Tommy to emerge from the kitchen with yet another batch of clean glasses, but this time his movements are slower, more controlled, as he places them down on the bar and brings his hand up to wipe away the sweat forming at his brow. He's about to go back to the kitchen when Landon grabs onto his arm and pulls him back, seriousness clouding his features as he nods towards the corner of the bar, toothpick secured between his teeth. 

"Letter for you," is all he says as he turns back to the customers, laughing along with their shitty, mid-life crisis plagued jokes. Tommy frowns, fingers dancing across his skin as he scratches at the healing remains of a scratch Alex gave him last week, and when he spots the letter on the bar his face breaks into a huge grin. He instantly recognizes the handwriting on the envelope, stroking his fingers over the jet-black ink as he rips it open, the stained paper inside making his heart leap in his chest. There's no introduction, not the usual "Dear Tommy" or "my beloved Tommy", just a smudge of food at the top left corner, that on closer inspection turns out to be oatmeal. Tommy giggles to himself. 

I had a dream last night, and for the first time in a long time, it was bad. Since I found you back in my life, everything has been so light, so beautiful, yet the nightmare that overtook me was everything but that. There was a long, narrow street, cobblestoned and empty, rows upon rows of abandoned houses stretching as far as I could see, open windows. The curtains waved in the wind, like a flag, and it all looked so peaceful. I dreamt of Dunkirk, last night.

I remember your face so vividly from that week, more vividly than I ever thought I could. I've never been much of a romantic lad, I never will be, romance will never be my thing. Occasional hook ups with the local birds is the closest I will ever come, and it never bothered me. And then you came along, with your pretty freckles and hazel eyes, and the way you looked at me at the Mole, after saving my bloody life, and it looked like you didn't give a flying fuck. I suppose you didn't, 'cause I didn't really either, you were just another soldier. My arrogance and selfishness were disgusting and I will never forgive myself for it, but in some ways, I guess I can thank it for bringing me you. Would you ever have fallen for me if I hadn't forced you, Tommy? Or would I just be another faceless victim of war and injustice? I think we both know the answer. 

So, as I'm writing this letter, I hope I can find it in myself to forgive my previous actions, and I hope you can too. I hope the frog, Gibson, was it? I hope he lives a beautiful life in a beautiful village with a beautiful wife, and maybe some beautiful children as well while we're at it. I know he meant something to you, and I will not pry, the pain in your eyes when he wasn't with us was obvious, and I will never blame you for feeling what you felt. Wherever he is, I'm sure he thinks of you. 

Maybe I should wrap this up, my mother is making her way downstairs and I don't feel like showing her my darkest, deepest thoughts all so stripped bare and vulnerable, but I need you to know that your presence is dearly missed around here, by both me and my mother. Our mother. You are our family, Tommy, I want to be your family. We'll never have an ideal life together, but I will die trying. You're missed, you're loved, I love you. It feels good loving you. I hope to see you soon. 

By the end of it, the tears are stuck painfully in his throat as he folds the letter in two, his hands shaking as he carefully places it back in its envelope and closes it. Landon side eyes him from the other side of the bar and excuses himself from the customers, moving over to Tommy. Their eyes meet for a split second, Tommy catching a stray tear that rolls down his cheek as he smiles carefully at his boss, his chest tight. He doesn't say anything to his employee, just places a large paw on his shoulder and nods over to the door, over to the exit that would lead to lovers together, and Tommy turns to look himself. There's a silhouette out there, in the snow, underneath the flickering beam of a streetlight, laboured breaths clouding the night sky, think winter coat wrapped over strong shoulders. Tommy's head hits the bar as he cries softly, shoulders shaking as he wills himself to stand up for fucks sake, stand up like a man and face his love again. Landon throws over his jacket and winks quickly at him. 

It takes him a few seconds to collect himself, arms slipping into the sleeves of his jacket, the letter tucked into his breast pocket. He doesn't look up, he just pushes the door open with his hip, eyes fixated on the ground, the ground, the ground, working shoes, those damn leather boots that he remembers oh so well, the boots he had borrowed in the morning when Annie asked him to fetch firewood from the barn out back, and there was the smell of basil and flowers once again hitting him, tight arms enveloping him. His head hits the hard plane of chest muscles, his fingers clutching onto a shirt hiding tattooed swallows, a butterfly. Soft lips kiss at the space underneath his ear and he shudders, squeezing his eyes shut as he nuzzles his face into a tanned neck, curly wisps of hair now stretching downwards towards broad shoulders and it's gotten so long, he thinks. He laughs softly and wraps his arms around Alex, allowing himself to have this moment, this very risky moment, because his love is here and everything feels complete now, for once. 

"You spent so much time reading that letter, thought I was gonna freeze to death out here," the crude, cocky comment tears a laugh from his chest yet again and he pulls away, dry lips stretching over teeth as he smiles widely, eyes glazed over with tears, happy fucking tears, and he's still so handsome. He grabs onto the sleeve of his jacket and pulls him with him into the alleyway behind the bar, breaths fanning out across each other's faces as their mouths meet halfway, Alex crowding Tommy against the cold brick, his shirt rucked up underneath his armpits as large palms stroke over his chest, settles over his ribs, thumbs digging into his underarms. It's ridiculous, he thinks, how reckless and careless he becomes whenever this man is around, how he's risking his job, his reputation, his bloody life, even, the minute he appears. He lets himself be manhandled up against a wall in a dark alleyway and gets snogged to the moon and back, yet he feels no remorse, no hesitation, just a tingling feeling that settles comfortably around his heart, it tickles whenever his soldier smiles, laughs. And it tingles even harder when those lips move from his own over to his jaw, littered with a weak attempt at a stubble, yet at the age of 25 years old he still can't grow a proper beard for shit. He enjoys giving himself some credit for trying, though. 

When those lips suck at his neck, however, he musters up enough common sense to grab onto the lapels of his jacket and pull him off, chuckling softly at the grumpy huff of protest he receives, yet he just brings his hands up to pet at his hair, smoothing it away from the soft wrinkle across his forehead, having a proper look at his lover for the first time in a few months. 

"What on earth are you doing here?" He mumbles, moving his hand to thumb over the plump bottom lip he had just bit onto and sucked at, watching the swollen flesh bloom under the pale tip of his finger, tugging it softly. Alex just grins at him and exhales softly, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline, and perhaps something akin to happiness? Tommy didn't dare to ask. He just collided his clenched fists with that hard chest and laughs, he realizes he hasn't laughed like this since he left Manchester, and motions for Alex to follow him, entering the bar through the old backdoor, red paint peeling as they push the door open and enter the suffocating heat that resides in the kitchen. He points for Alex to wait in the break room, making him a quick cup of tea before moving to finish up his work as quickly as he can, smiling softly to himself as he feels Alex's eyes on him the entire time. The tingling sensation in his heart seemed to pick up on that, too, after a while. 

Landon enters after about 20 minutes of dishwashing, large hand clamping down on his shoulder as he praises him for his work and looks over at Alex who's hunched over their ratty, old kitchen table, reading a newspaper to himself under hushed breaths. He's on his third cup of tea by now, hands wrapped around the hot ceramic as he sips it slowly, hissing each time it burns his tongue. Tommy watches as Landon studies him for a few seconds before turning back to Tommy, his voice a mere whisper as he tells him to go home, that he can manage 30 minutes by himself until the new girl arrives. Tommy doesn't have the time to thank him before he's gone, so he just pulls the plug out of the sink, hangs up his towel and fetches his jacket from the chair next to Alex, motioning for him to follow. 

"Come, let's go home." 

Alex doesn't think he's ever felt home like he does when Tommy wraps an arm around his middle and huddles close to him as they walk back to his apartment, his eyelashes coated in soft snowflakes, his mouth open in a laugh as Alex says something funny. He wants to kiss him right there, in the middle of the street, maybe just to prove his point, prove that Tommy can never be anything but his. He wraps an arm over his shoulder and presses a quick kiss to the top of his head, his hand possessively settling over his shoulder blade to keep him close. 

There's a "Welcome" mat outside his door, black letters spelled out on dark yellow, rough bristles, and Alex cocks his head at it, allowing himself to peek up at Tommy to ogle his reaction. The younger boy's face hardens quickly, his jaw clenching tightly as he looks away, but then he breaks into a soft smile, it makes him look so young, and his eyes meet Alex's. He reaches his hand out and pulls him close, warm breath fanning over his face, soft lips meeting his as they stand there together, on the fucking mat, and Tommy laughs. 

"It was supposed to be a joke, you know..." Alex frowns, not quite understanding, "The mat," Tommy clarifies quickly, his hand stroking over the cold, red cheek of the older man in front of him, eyes watering softly as he utters his next sentence, "No one ever visits me, really." 

Alex sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and looks down, down at their feet, the tip of their boots touching, shuffling against each other. His forehead leans against Tommy's, arms laying over his shoulders, his mouth opening and closing as he thinks of an answer, any fucking answer, fingers curling softly. 

"Got the place to ourselves, then?" It seems to be the right thing to say because a bubbling laughter slips from the young man's lips and he just shakes his head, pushing Alex inside and closes the door behind them. Once inside, Alex shrugs his coat off and smiles at Tommy when he grabs it for him, draping them across a chair, hands lingering slightly before he pulls back, eyes trained on him. 

"Except for the cat," as if on cue, a red tabby strokes itself along his leg, loud purring filling his ears. Alex grins widely and squats, stroking his fingers over a soft, red ear, red tail tickling along his thigh. Tommy disappears into the kitchen then, so Alex settles for picking the cat up and holding it to his chest, his fingers scratching at the top of its head, following suit. 

"You never told me you had a cat," he smirks, the chubby creature squirming in his arms as he saunters up behind Tommy and presses a careful kiss to the back of his neck, peeking over his shoulder as he pours water into a kettle and places it on the stove. Tommy shrugs his shoulders quickly and turns around to face him, eyes glinting with humour. 

"Didn't think pussies were your thing, sorry," it's obvious that Tommy takes great pride in the look of pure horror and amusement on Alex's face as the snarky comment slips from Tommy's tongue, a smirk curling across his face slowly as he tilts his head back and laughs, eyes squeezed shut. Alex stays silent, mouth agape as he scrambles for words, a comeback, but the raw laughter erupting from the younger man in front of him makes him crack up himself, letting the cat force its way out his arms and onto the counter. He reaches out and punches Tommy's chest softly, his eyes glinting with affection as he leans in closer and kisses his forehead, lips lingering against warm skin. 

"Cheeky fucker," Tommy's eyes slip closed as he leans into the gesture and sighs softly, hands gripping onto the counter tightly as they stand there together, in each other's presence, enjoying the silence settling around them. They don't get to appreciate it for long, though, because the kettle screeches loudly, making Tommy jump in surprise before he fumbles to move it off the warm stove, pouring the hot liquid into two large mugs. They settle down on the sofa together, knees touching as they face each other, sipping their tea quietly as they listen to the soft noises from outside, city life bustling. The cat settles in Alex's lap after a while, ginger paws scratching softly against his thigh as it purrs loudly, body sprawled out inelegantly between the man's thighs. Tommy smirks at that and blows at the hot liquid in his cup quietly, watching the two of them as Alex strokes at the tabby's stomach, gulping down the rest of his tea quickly. 

"Why did you come?" Tommy decides to break the silence between them, yet he flinches when the question sounds a lot harsher than he intended it to, words rushed and sharp. Alex doesn't seem to pick up on it, however, just keeps his hand on the cat's stomach as he raises his eyes to meet Tommy's, a fond smile on his face. There was something akin to a beard there now, or at least as much of a beard as he could possibly grow, which made Tommy itch with the need to run his hands through it and feel it scratch against his face as they kissed. He shook his head softly and focused back on Alex who had now moved his hand from the cat and over to his arm that was slung over the back of the sofa, lacing their fingers together. 

"It wasn't really planned... Which you can probably tell," he laughs nervously and tucks his chin against his chest, trying his best not to look at Tommy as he explains to him what happened, a soft red sheen of colour climbing his neck whenever Tommy decided to tease him about it, voice tender and gentle as he leaned over and kissed him, interrupting the story. When they pull back, Alex's hand grabs onto the back of his head and keeps him there, lips kissing softly at the corner of his mouth. 

"The thought of seeing you had me sprinting across Manchester train station like a love-struck fool, without any luggage or anything, just my letter and a ticket. I looked like a fucking maniac," he laughs softly, pulling Tommy closer and wrapping him up in his arms, his chin hooked over the top of his head as he speaks, the soft vibrations of his voice making Tommy sink into his chest. There are hands on his chest, stroking over the firm flesh, warm lips and cold nose against the side of his neck, soft breaths huffed out against his dampened skin. He's distracted, to say the least, yet he manages to pull Tommy away and push some hair out of his face, a wide grin plastered on his lips. 

"You make me so crazy," Tommy barks out a laugh and pushes him away, giggling into the crook of his elbow as he gets up from the couch and stretches, Alex left on the couch with orange fluff spread out over his legs in the shape of a starfish, soft snores erupting from the fat beast. He moves him from his lap carefully, smiling up at Tommy when the younger lad stands between his legs and bends to press their foreheads together, hands stroking across the flesh of his throat.

"Let's go to bed." 

Alex thought to himself that Tommy must be the most beautiful person on this planet as he laid on the bed by himself, lower half covered with the thin sheets he found bundled up in a ball on the floor, Tommy shucking his clothes inelegantly in front of him. Men weren't supposed to feel like that, Alex had realised that by now, but he would never understand how the smooth, pale skin stretched across bony hips, narrow chest and hollow collarbones couldn't be considered stunning because it happened to be a male. He wouldn't have it. When his eyes roamed the 25-year-old man that curled up against his side, dark curls falling over his face as he sleeps, heavy breaths fanning over his own chest, he didn't give a fuck about anything, he just fell asleep with a strong arm wrapped around him. He even slept through the night. 

~ 

When Alex was 8 years old, he was in love with Juliette Winslow who lived two houses away, curly ginger hair and bright blue eyes, dark freckles on pale skin. He wouldn't know what proper love was until years later, yet he talked his mother into picking some flowers from the garden for him to bring her, his face beet red as his mother teased him about it, warm hands carding through his wild hair. The flowers were pretty, just like Juliette, so he thought to himself that love must be when not even a flower could take away the beauty of a person. At 8 years of age, he wasn't all that wrong. 

Red faces and shaky handed he rang her doorbell and watched as her father opened the door, a large man with an intimidating moustache and endless, broad shoulders, and when he stuttered out a small 'is Juliette home' the man grabbed onto his flowers, threw them onto the ground and smacked him upon the head, growling at him to 'get the fuck off his property before he peppered his ass full of bullets just to watch him dance'. Alex concluded that love was hopeless and not worth his time. 

But now, at age 28, his hair was shorter, his face was pale and his heart was aching because love was fucking great and he finally mastered it. Once again with flowers in his hand, he pushed open the bedroom door and found Tommy still asleep, body sprawled messily across the sheets, naked except from his underpants. There was no sun to light up his pale complexion this winter morning, just the cloudy London sky and thick snowflakes flurrying through the cold air, yet Alex thought he was as beautiful as ever. With a small kick to Tommy's left foot hanging off the bed, the boy startled awake. He was slow in the morning, slower than any other person Alex had ever come across, spending a few seconds just mushing his face into his pillow, dissatisfied grunts and moans leaving his lips as he stretches out his sleep-heavy limbs, eyes blinking confusedly up at him. 

"The fuck is this?" He mutters and reaches for the flowers, eyeing Alex carefully as if expecting something to be very wrong, eyebrows furrowed heavily on his forehead, hands clutching onto the brown paper. Alex shrugs and sits down next to him, stroking a hand over his clavicle, up his pale thigh, a smile on his face. 

"Flowers, you twat." 

The look Tommy gave him could only be described as incredulous, flowers pushed up against his cheek as he smells them, fingers playing with the stems. His hand laces with Alex's on his thigh, the flowers forgotten on the sheets as he pulls him closer and kisses him quickly, a fond look in those dark eyes, fingers stroking over his face slowly. 

"Didn't take you for the hopeless romantic type, to be honest," Tommy muses and cocks his head at him, getting out of bed to collect his clothes off the floor, grinning to himself when he realises that Alex is wearing his clothes today, the pants stretching tightly over his legs and pelvis, braces doing a useless job of keeping them up. As if those pants would ever come off. 

They make breakfast together, dry toast with jam, steaming hot tea, Alex's with two spoons of sugar, Tommy's with a dash of milk. They eat at the table together, ginger tabby nuzzling against their legs occasionally, a fluffy tail tickling across their thighs. When Alex asks Tommy what its name is, a shameful look clouds his eyes as he looks away, fingers playing awkwardly with the hem of his shirt as he murmurs a quiet 'Alex', hiding his face in his hands when the older man laughs loudly, the sound ricocheting off the walls. He wants to explain everything, how the empty feeling in his chest drove him to picking off a cat from the streets, covered in flees and dirt, naming it after the one thing that once filled his head, made living hell into something he didn't want to leave behind. The feeling when his hands sank into the soft fur reminded him of dark strands of oil slick hair tickling against his fingers in the dark night, the soft purring of the animal vibrating against him like the hushed whispers they shared. He never thought he would feel it again, so when he did he brought the cat into his home and let his mush of a soldier brain entertain itself with the feeling of having someone again, just one more time. 

Before he can explain, however, there's two sets of green eyes peering at him, Alex pressing the cat against his chest as he lands soft kisses to the top of its head, a warm smile on his face. Alex's fingers lace together with his own and all thoughts are gone because they're here, together, and Tommy is fine. He's really, really fine. 

~ 

On December 22nd they travelled to Manchester, side by side on the train with their suitcases in hand, cloudy breaths dusting through the air. Alex was careful as he hoisted their cases up onto the narrow shelf above their heads, Christmas gifts clanking loudly inside their separate boxes. Tommy gave him a careful smile and took the window seat, one leg crossed over the other, a narrow slip of pale skin peeking as his pants rode up his calves. They had managed to snag a compartment all to themselves, being quick to draw the blinds and click the door shut behind them as they got comfortable across from one another. When Tommy's legs landed in his lap, Alex wrapped strong fingers around his calf and squeezed, smirking. 

Tommy would deny it if you ever asked, but when Alex crawled into bed with him morning of the 20th with a letter from his mother that invited him to join them for the holidays if he had nowhere more important to be, he curled up in Alex's lap and cried until his throat ached and his nose went stuffy. He had never really talked to Alex, about anything really, much less his family situation. But those arms circled his waist and pulled him close and Alex just knew, somewhere deep inside, from the moment he stepped into this apartment and realized how dingy it was, how lived in. The dust collecting on the old picture frames containing grainy pictures of what could only be family members, the same dark hair and freckled cheeks repeated onto each and every inked photograph. Tommy didn't care to wipe off the collection of dirt and cat hair from them, but he cared enough to leave them on his walls, a bitter reminder every day. Alex didn't feel the need to ask. 

"Going home to mother," Tommy mumbles softly to Alex before he falls asleep across from him, the dim sky of London passing by in a layer of clouds and smoke. 

When the air cleared up and the soft winter skies of Manchester came into view, Tommy stirred awake as fingers pinched at his skin. Alex was grinning at him, looking freakishly juvenile with his clean-shaven face and sore nose, winter cold catching up to him after a late-night snowball fight outside the bar, the edges of his nostrils flaring an angry red. He looked way too young, young enough for Tommy to make out his green uniform, the slim figure of him growing dark and frightening as Tommy remembers, properly remembers how much he despised this man, this man and his cowardice, but he pushes his thoughts aside. Because Alex is pulling him from his seat to straighten out his jacket and shirt, fingers pulling relentlessly at the wrinkled collar. 

"Gotta look your best for mum, Tom," and he forgets everything his brain ever threw at him because this man will be the death of him one day, even after saving him so many times. 

Annie was easy to spot as she hollered for them on the platform, a big fur coat drowning out her small form as she waved them over, her hair pulled elegantly into a large bun at the back of her hair, nose powdered and lashes coated. Her gloved hands reached for her son and placed a big kiss on his cheek, letting her fingers squeeze at his biceps carefully before turning to Tommy, her eyes alit. He wanted to cry again, because this woman made him feel welcome again, like he had a mother, and maybe the entire family would be the death of him, he thought. Her arms pulled him down, wrapped tightly around his neck as she hugged him, her melodic laughter filling the platform around them. 

"Hun, it's so good to see you again," there was a kiss pressed to his cheek amidst all the hugging and welcoming, her lipstick staining his rosy cheek as their taxi driver helped them with their luggage, her arm looping around his elbow slowly. Alex nudges at him and motions for them to get in the car, slamming the door shut after sliding into the seat across from them. Annie chats with them the entire ride back, squeezing Tommy's arm softly and clasping his hand tightly in her own when Alex explained to her that Tommy had talked Landon into giving him a job so he could make some money while in London, and he certainly didn't miss the sheen in her green eyes, identical to her son's. 

Alex realised that one of his favourite things to look at was Tommy all cuddled up in a blanket on their green couch, eyes shining with laughter as his mother tells stories of their childhood. There was a mug of tea clutched in his hands, warm ceramic rising some colour back into his slim fingers, feet clad in thick wool socks that Alex had lent him when he complained about the cold hardwood floors. He looked like the epitome of youth, yet the slight discolouration under his eyes accompanied by the smile lines next to his chapped lips kept Alex from seeing that face all covered in oil and sand, the desperate look of war etched into his features. He knew, deep down, that having Tommy around made his body so aware of his surroundings, the feeling of those hands on his body dragging him back five years in time, reluctantly, yet he couldn't let go. He propped his hip up against the doorframe and sipped his tea silently, watching his lover and his mother engaging in a conversation that made Tommy crack large smiles Alex never thought he would see, not after what they went through, and if this is war then to hell with it, he thought. He can survive this, easily. 

Sophie and her family arrived around noon the 24th, the children basically stumbling through the door to throw themselves over Alex, quiet squeals of delight falling from their mouths when he lifted them off the ground and placed a kiss on each of their temples, a wide grin on his face. Christopher had his arms wrapped around his neck, chubby cheek propped up on his shoulder, his long curls falling over his face and fanning over the fabric of Alex's plaid waistcoat. Edward soon enough started squirming in his arms, making a quick beeline for the Christmas tree in the living room, the space already filled with a few presents, tree lights sparkling in the dark room. He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted Tommy sitting in the lounge chair by the kitchen entrance, occupied with a book he had borrowed from Alex's room, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Alex had teased him and called him "Grandpa" all morning, but Tommy wouldn't let it get to him. The toddler edged closer to him, curious eyes peering over the edge of the chair to look at the book, seemingly disappointed by the lack of illustrations on the old paper, shoulders slumped slightly. Tommy closes the book and smiles at the young boy, reaching out to ruffle his hair quickly which makes him smile widely, front tooth missing. He's quick to crawl into Tommy's lap then, chubby hands digging into pockets to retrieve a small tin soldier, face nearly erased from use, the uniform a glistening copper. Tommy studies it between his fingertips, stroking his fingers over the life jacket of it, darker metal fogging from the heat of his palms, the stale smell of it filling his nostrils. 

"Your uncle looked like this, when I met him," that seems to excite the boy further as he makes himself comfortable in Tommy's lap, his hands pillowing his head against the older man's chest, Tommy's arm wrapped securely around him. He tells him about the war, soft tang of guilt settling in his throat as he described Dunkerque, how he lost everything to bullets and bombs. The toddler takes an interest when he mentions the Frenchman, his small hands clutching onto Tommy's knit tank top, messy hair tickling at his nose. His hand finds its way into Edward's hair, caressing his head softly when the small boy comments that 'Gibson sounds nice' and he was, he says, he really was. Mute 'till death, but he was nice. After a few minutes the boy dozes off and Tommy pulls him closer, nuzzling his nose into soft hair, letting out a shaky breath as fingers settle onto his shoulder and squeeze sympathetically, a silent 'sorry' escaping soft lips. Tommy doesn't answer, just watches as Alex slides to his knees next to his chair and peers up at him, hair combed back slick and face shaven clean. Their fingers intertwine, resting on top of Edward's leg. 

Alex felt something tingle in his chest as he watches Tommy settle down next to his mother by the table, his face lit up by a big grin and the candles covering the table top, already engaged in a conversation with Linc about his work back in London. Watching Tommy interact with his family did something to him, watching the man that haunted his dreams for five years settle down in his home and take part in their family traditions, wrapping an arm around his mother's waist to kiss her cheek softly when she finally brings out the last platter of food, her eyes wide and excited. She brings her glass up for a toast and smiles widely at them all, her lips pursed tightly as she gets a good look at them all, her family, gathered around the table as the clock passed 17:00. The conversation around the table goes smoothly throughout their annual Christmas eve dinner, Annabelle dozing off on Alex's shoulder by the time Annie brings out dessert, her head lolling backwards against his collarbone as he props her up on his thigh. Linc eventually carries her upstairs and tucks her in, Sophie helping her mother clear the table, so Alex seizes his opportunity to sit down next to Tommy, joining their hands together in his lap. Tommy's eyes are glued to the boys playing on the floor, Christopher laughing loudly as Edward climbs atop of him and digs his fingers into his sides, wild curls bouncing on his head. Tommy squeezes his hand softly and smiles fondly at him, untangling their fingers to reach up and stroke across Alex's cheek, the smoothness eerily familiar. His lips curl slightly and a small huff of air leaves thin lips, dark eyes studying his face. 

"I like you better unshaven." 

They put the boys to bed together at 21:00, soft juvenile faces heavy with sleep as their heads hit the pillow, small bodies clad in matching plaid pyjamas Tommy had gifted them earlier in the evening. Edward insisted that Tommy should tell his stories about Dunkirk again, soft green eyes gleaming with excitement as Alex tucked their duvet's up to their chins and strokes his fingers through their hair, deep voice humming the tune of a lullaby. Tommy just smiles and rests his hand on the boy's leg, leaning his head back against the wall, flowery pattern disappearing behind dark curls. The room grows silent as he tells them about his mates, the ones he'd recklessly moved through the empty streets with, searching for anyone, anything, that could keep them alive for a while longer. He told them about the soldier he buried together with a mute friend he grew to care so much about, and he told them about pulling their wet, shivering uncle out of a certain death, his eyes meeting Alex's across the room. He can't make out his facial expressions, so he keeps going, licking his dry lips when he tells them about the trawler, leaving out the details that haunted him the most, their uncle looming over him with loud, desperate threats falling from his lips as he slowly but surely lost his mind to the war, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Alex's eyes grow dim as he tells them how he lost his Frenchman, the mute Gibson whom saved his life so selflessly on many occasions, and he makes sure to look straight at Alex when he tells them that he saw him, saw him flailing his arms inside the trawler, attempting just as hard as anyone else to stay alive. He saw his hand move slower and slower until it inevitably stilled, another life lost. Alex left the room, then. He finished tucking in the boys quickly, placing a kiss on each their foreheads before closing the door softly behind him. 

When he walks downstairs again, Annie is busying herself with the dishes, a frown drawn tight between her eyebrows as she scrubs furiously at a plate. She spots Tommy in the doorway and nods silently to the barn out back, not saying a word. Tommy understood, however. 

Alex is perched up on an arrangement of old boxes stacked together in front of a worn-down automobile, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling above his head, swaying softly in the puffs of smoke emitting from Alex's mouth. His eyes are glazed over, his body showing no reaction to Tommy's presence as the heavy barn doors slam closed behind him, cigarette dangling between nimble fingers. Tommy sit down across from him, a good 2 meters between the two of them, silence clouding the air uncomfortably. Alex sucks in a breath and frowns, not meeting Tommy's eyes as he speaks up, teeth biting softly at his bottom lip. 

"You never told me," his voice sounds small, sad almost as he mutters the short sentence, sucking furiously at his cigarette as his voice wavers dangerously on each syllable, throat tight. Tommy crosses his legs and leans back against the red wood of the old barn, arms crossed across his chest as he watches the older man put out his cigarette against old wood and drop the bud in between chipped floor planks. He cocks his head and looks down at his feet, studying his chewed-up shoelaces as he answers. 

"I never had a reason to," Alex looks over at him and frowns, anger overcoming him as he moves to get up. He seems to change his mind, opting to prop his hip against an old woodworking bench in the corner as he drags a hand across his face, rough skin scratching again his smooth face in a stark contrast. 

"It's obvious he meant something to you, Tom, I'd appreciate it if you didn't smartass me on this, aye?" His tone changes abruptly, seriousness overcoming him as he waves his hand around wildly, "You just watched him die, and you didn't even fucking tell me? I think I had a right to know," Tommy shoots him a dirty glare as he gets up as well, old feelings stirring painfully in his chest as he gets up in Alex's space, way too close for comfort, and jabs a finger right between his pecks, hair falling into his face. 

"Deserved to know what? That you killed him? Fine, you killed Gibson, you fucking twat," he spits the accusation angrily, right into Alex's face, surprising himself with the harshness of his words, Alex's jaw tightening as he looks away, green eyes spacing out. 

"I didn't tell you because I pitied you, Alex. I pitied you and your shell-shocked cowardice, I stuck to you because I owed you the fucking luck of staying alive," his hand forces Alex to look at him, fingers digging harshly into his chin, "I stuck with you, I saved your life, and you tried to sacrifice me, you fucking bastard. If it wasn't for me, you'd be dead. And you threw me to the fucking sharks." 

Profanities keep raining between them, Alex's eyes welling up with salty tears as Tommy pushes him against the wall and screams at him, screams all the pent up shit he kept inside him all these years that he didn't have the heart to tell Alex during their week together, opting to stay quiet and help him cope, offer himself as a coping mechanism. His hands grabbed onto the collar of Alex's shirt as their noses brush together, Tommy's eyes wild and large as his lip curls over his teeth, jaw set tight. 

"As much as I love you, I will always hate you for that. For everything you did, and I will never stop," his features softens when he leans their foreheads together, listening to the shaky breaths falling from his lover's mouth, silence enveloping them once again. His hands find their way into Alex's hair to pull his face back, their lips meeting for a kiss wet with salty tears and Alex was crying, fat tears running down his cheeks as he lets his head hit the wall, hands limp against his side. Tommy's fingers wipe at his cheeks and he whispers softly to him, pressing small kisses to his jaw, but it doesn't seem to do much good as Alex turns his head away, eyes red rimmed and sore. He swallows heavily, Adams apple bobbing slowly as he lets his fingers grab onto the sleeve of Tommy's plaid shirt, grounding himself to the feeling of him. 

"Not a day goes by where I don’t regret my actions, Tom. Not one fucking day," their eyes meet again, fresh tears rolling down Alex's cheeks as he reaches his hand up and strokes it across Tommy's cheek, rough callouses rubbing at the tired circles under his eyes, "And watching you put on a smile for me despite my actions warms me, because I have no clue how you do it. I can't even forgive myself after all these years, and you're strong enough to look me in the eyes and tell me you love me," his hand joins the other in cupping Tommy's face properly, Tommy's own hands laying atop of Alex's softly, fingers curling around tattooed knuckles. 

"You deserve so much better," Tommy shakes his head and pulls him close by his waistcoat, nosing against the smooth skin of his neck, his arms tight around Alex's waist, "I used you in the worst way possible, you were nothing to me. Makes me sick, Tom, makes me wanna puke," his breathing gets more ragged as he goes on, fingers now wrapped tightly around Tommy's wrists, phlegm collecting in the back of his throat as he coughs loudly. Tommy doesn't move away from him, just pulls his face down by the back of his neck and presses their cheeks together, the rhythmical squeeze around warm skin grounding Alex as he sucks in deep breaths, fingers loosening their tight hold. Tommy's lips are damp against his ear as he whispers to him. 

"I didn't tell you 'cause I knew you'd react like this," Alex snorts out a laugh, yet it sounds more like a cough, shoulders tense as he rubs over his face, Tommy slipping away from him slowly. The cold starts to creep up on them then, so Tommy reaches over to wipe at Alex's cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt, quickly combing his hair back into place with his fingers. Alex's shoulders sag slightly when Tommy pulls him close and kisses him softly, fingers straightening out his collar. 

"Let's go get fucking pissed, yeah?" 

Alex took Tommy's suggestion a bit too literal, dancing around the living room with his mother by the time the clock ticked 23:00, half empty bottle of brandy clutched in his fist. He was singing loudly to a song Tommy recalls learning in school, his long curls bouncing atop his head as he spun his mother around, cackling laughter erupting from his chest. Sophie had a big grin on her lips as she sauntered over to Tommy and held her hand out to him, her glass clutched firmly in her right hand. She looked sleek as ever, evening gown flowing around her legs as she wrapped an arm around Tommy and pulled him close, spinning them across the living room to the beat of Alex's horrid singing, eyes bright and shining. Tommy took notice of her seemingly good dancing skills as she glided across the floor gracefully with Tommy's awkward limbs dangling after her, a red tint covering his cheeks when she laughed at him and flicked his nose, downing the rest of her drink. She made some crude comment about his "two left feet" just as Alex wrapped him up in his arms from behind and pushes his nose against the sweaty meat of his neck, warm breath ghosting against slick skin. He makes a half-hearted attempt to pry those strong arms away from his waist, fingers tugging at Alex's crisp, white shirt helplessly as he laughs quietly, Annie watching them from across the room. Alex just tightens his grip and places a messy, wet kiss against his jaw, the clear stench of alcohol crawling across Tommy's skin as Alex spins him around and smiles brightly, sweat gathering at his brows. He forces Tommy to dance in spite of his family sitting right there, watching their every move, and when he shoves his hands into the back pockets of Tommy's pants and kisses him like it's their last day on earth, Annie is quick to give her son a swat across the head, suggesting that Tommy help him into bed. She doesn't offer him the couch this time, just hands him a few pillows with a sheepish smile on her lips. 

Christmas day was everything Alex could've hoped for, except for his raging hangover, his family gathered around the table in the dining room, loud conversations traveling across in all directions. Edward was propped up on his lap, clutching onto the last remains of his serving of turkey, his face smeared with fat. Tommy smiled at him and pushed his chair closer, leaning in to briefly touch his lips against Alex's earlobe, whispering huskily in his ear. 

"Merry Christmas, Highlander." 

~ 

Tommy had never spent this much time in bed his entire life, let alone in a mere week. He'd wake up at 6 ever morning when Annabelle made her presence known to the entire country by screaming her lungs out, and by the time Alex had crawled out of bed and shushed her, Tommy had fallen asleep again. He'd wake up again at 7 with the small child wrapped in a blanket between them on the bed, Alex's arm wrapped securely around her small body, and he'd smile because the small puffs of breath falling from Alex's lips blew through her soft, blonde hair and made her wrinkle her nose. So, he'd lean down to kiss her cheek softly and press up against her, his arm bending to drag through brown curls and he'd fall asleep again, hand touching Alex's over Annabelle's stomach.

He would lastly wake up at 8, and not fall asleep again, and Annabelle would look up at him with big, brown eyes and crack a smile so big her bare gums would glisten from the morning sun, her chubby hands reaching towards him to grab at his cheeks and hair, gleeful squeals falling from her mouth. He'd press a kiss to her forehead and pull her to his chest, letting her play with the dog tag hanging from his neck, identical to the one he was given when he enlisted, yet Alex had taken the liberty to get it engraved with their initials, buzzing with anticipation as Tommy opened the small jewellery box under the Christmas tree. Her small fingers created smudged fingerprints along the silver, the soft jingling noises from the necklace making her giggle. That would often stir Alex awake and they'd share lazy kisses over her head, alcoholic morning breath making Tommy grimace and push at Alex's chest, mocking his drinking habits. 

This morning, however, he woke up in bed alone. His wristwatch showed 8:47, so he reluctantly crawled out of bed and slipped on some clothes, most likely Alex's, and made his way downstairs. He was met by the sight of a full to the brim dining table, Annabelle chomping down on a dry piece of bread while sat in her high chair at the end of the table, and when she spotted Tommy she dropped the bread and reached her arms out, uttering gibberish at him. Alex turned to smile at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, placing a sloppy kiss against his cheek. 

"New Year's Eve, aye?" He grins widely and wiggles his eyebrows and Tommy gets a sudden urge to just kiss the life out of him, momentarily forgetting the family's presence there in the room with them. He opts with placing a kiss at the corner of Alex's mouth and smile sheepishly at him, sitting down together at the table, Tommy hoisting a pouting Christopher onto his lap after Annie scolds him for dipping his fingers into the butter. He leans down and whispers in the boy's ear, hair tickling at his nose. 

"You have to steal when nobody's watching, C," the boy just huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, making Sophie chuckle and tickle at his stomach. He breaks out into small fits of giggles and squirms around in Tommy's lap, head thrown back over his shoulder. Alex hands him the basket of sliced bread and grins, flicking Christopher's nose quickly. 

They spend the entire day outside for once, Sophie assisting her boys in building a snowman, Edward stumbling around in the snow with his too large boots and Christopher subtly mocking him for it. There were snowballs flurrying through the air, the tell-tale sound of Alex's too loud cackling reaching Tommy's ears just as cold snow spreads out across his pelvis, soaking through the thin material of his pants and he groans loudly, chucking the snowball he had spent some time shaping out in his gloved fingers right into Alex's side with a loud crunch. The angry muttering from the older man was satisfying enough for Tommy to quickly grab some more snow and sneak up behind Alex, quickly tipping it all over his head when he was too busy brushing himself off to notice Tommy behind him. After dinner, Annie wraps her two shaking boys up in blankets and basically feeds them cup after cup of hot tea, the fireplace crackling loudly to their right. Alex is sprawled out between Tommy's legs, head propped up comfortably against his chest, one of his hands stroking softly over Tommy's shin underneath the heavy fur blanket. It's eerily silent, the boy's playing in their bedroom upstairs, the living room empty except for the two of them, Annie messing around in the kitchen. Tommy slides a hand over Alex's chest, underneath his shirt, stroking across the cold skin of his collarbones, mouthing softly along the side of his neck and Alex just leans his head back, squeezing harder around Tommy's shin. 

"Mum's in the kitchen, you horny bastard," he mutters sleepily and Tommy can just hear the smirk on those lips, humming softly into damp curls as Alex sips his tea again. There's a comfortable silence around them, unlike the heavy one that normally surrounds them when they don't speak, leftover tension from a week that shaped them in unimaginable ways. Tommy doesn’t like that silence, because when he looks at Alex and sees a frown on his face, five years' worth of nightmares creeps up on him and smacks him across the back of the head because you shouldn't love this bastard, and he knows it, he knows it all. He knows that he's slipping into a pattern with him, a pattern he doesn't recognize because this man was his first and last everything, and it scares him because he doesn't know if Alex feels it, too. He was never Alex's first, or last, he was just another soldier in the mass, just a face that happened to make a choice to save him and he paid the fucking price, more than once. He feels like squeezing his eyes shut because he still remembers when Alex first decided he needed Tommy, he needed him bad because his head kept yelling at him, voices kept disturbing him whenever it got silent and he needed the noise. And to Tommy it was all new, it felt good because Alex loomed over him and he felt protected, almost loved. Almost. And then, just like that, he was nothing again because they were dying and he wasn't a fucking highlander like the others, he remembers the wet spit landing on his face as Alex yelled at him, as if they never shared something. To Alex they probably didn't.

He turns his head and inhales the warm smell of burning wood, eyelids fluttering as he wraps his arms tightly around Alex and pulls him closer, pushing his cheek into his hair. Alex turns his head slightly and smiles softly at him, all shimmery eyes and rosy cheeks and Tommy decides that it doesn't matter, not now, because Alex chose him and all his baggage and that must mean something. 

They all gathered together in the garden before the fireworks started, huddled together as the wind picked up around them, Alex wrapping Tommy up with a large scarf, tutting at him when he attempts to push him off. Annie just smiles at them, rubbing her hands together to warm them up, buttoning her large coat right up to her chin, breath clouding the air as another gust of air rustled through their hair. Tommy watched as Sophie sat down in her husband's lap and kissed his cheek softly, dark eyes glittering with affection as she strokes her fingers over his smooth cheeks, thumbing over his light brown moustache. It was the first time he'd seen Linc flash her a proper smile, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close to his chest, dusting a soft kiss over her forehead as they settled down together. He allowed himself to peek over at Alex, who was chatting quietly with his mother less than a meter away, his nose a bright red from the cold, cool skin dry along his hairline. He reached his hand out and grabbed onto Alex's arm, pressing up against the solid warmth of him with a quiet sigh, head supported by his shoulder. There were warm lips against his forehead instantly, conversation dying out as Alex pulled his arm away to wrap Tommy up tightly, pressing their chests together. Fireworks began going off in the distance, and Tommy peeked down at his watch. 23:56. They still had time. He turned his face to press it into Alex's neck, inhaling the smell of his new cologne, a smell that he couldn't link to bombs and aircrafts, a bitter scent with a musky undertone, older. He smiled to himself and inhaled the scent again, hearing more fireworks go off in the distance now, 23:57. Alex pressed him closer to his chest and inhaled abruptly, chest vibrating with the force, making Tommy look up at him. He knew what he was thinking because he felt it too, the ground shaking under their boots from the explosions going off around them, the two of them clinging tightly to each other as they reminded themselves that it was all over, the war had ended. They were safe, together, just like they were five years ago. Tommy tilted Alex's chin down and kissed him, chapped lips slipping together as the clock struck 23:58, hot breaths entangling in one another. 

"We're safe," Tommy whispers and Alex grins widely, green eyes sparkling underneath the exploding colours in the sky, lighting his face up in greens and blues. He wraps his hand around the back of Tommy's neck and breathes in heavily, steady this time, the grin never leaving his face. Tommy felt the warm feeling in his chest as well, the feeling of being calm and collected, a feeling he had never felt before. He wasn’t scared this New Year's Eve. 

"You make me feel safe, you know," Alex mumbles against his mouth, plump lips sliding against Tommy's chapped ones smoothly, forcing Tommy to smile back because he felt the same way. He grabbed onto Alex's shoulders and pulled away, looking him right in the eyes. 23:59. 

"I know," he whispers back, his voice drowned out by the loud bangs above their heads, hair flopping into his face, "but I have to go home," the sentence makes Alex look away, his lips pursed tightly as he nods slowly, smiling sadly to himself. Tommy knew how he felt, they had spent more time together during this month than they ever had before, and Tommy found himself falling in love every day because he found someone as emotionally broken as himself to hang onto. He realised that they fit together, too perfectly, and he also realised they shouldn't, but he didn't think about that too much. Alex turned his face back to him and kissed the corner of his mouth, lips lingering there as their family gathers together by the barn and starts counting down loudly, more fireworks exploding around them. Tommy digs his fingers into Alex's side and breathes out shakily, their foreheads leaning against each other, Alex licking his lips quickly before meeting Tommy's gaze, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in thought. He straightens out slightly and clears his throat, giving Tommy a reassuring smile just as the fireworks goes off right above their heads, the noise booming in their ears as they clutch onto each other tightly. 00:00. 

"I'll just have to move in with you, won't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I marked this as finished now, but I think we can all agree that the ending here opens up for a nice little epilogue, yeah? I'm still gonna write my thank you's for now because you read this thing and stayed patient with me and jeez that's fucking impressive, guys, wow. Thank you so much for you kind comments and your kudos and everything, it keeps me going.  
> My friend bitched because I have to thank her 'cause she also stayed fucking patient with me and I guess she really deserves it, hahah. She also kinda talked me into posting the story in the first place, I wasn't going to at first. Sooo, thanks Rikke. You're kinda cool sometimes, hahah.  
> Well, I hope you all enjoyed and please stick around for whenever I post the sequel, I don't think it'll be as long as the other parts but originally this was only gonna be like, one part... So you never know hahah. All the love!


	4. Epilogue

**Dunkerque, May 1940**

Every time those fucking planes dropped a bomb it felt like Tommy's head got hit directly, his eardrums vibrating with each loud bang. There was chaos everywhere, soldiers yelling at the top of their lungs all along the narrow mole, their bodies pressed tightly together as they waited, hoped, for everything to just stop. Tommy watched as wood splintered and rained across the blue skies, the soft sounds of it hitting the dark water a stark contrast to the noise around them and Tommy wanted them all to just shut up, his arms wrapped tightly around the wooden beam he was currently sat on, uniform soaked and cold. There were screams, flesh ripping from bone type screams, ripped limbs littering the surface as the planes finally leave, the eerie silence returning like nothing ever happened. Like war didn't just fucking happen. 

Tommy felt mad, he realised, after spending all this time roaming around some small village with his mates, and he finally understood the feeling that kept clogging his throat and forcing itself down into his stomach whenever someone addressed him directly. He was fucking mad 'cause he was only 19 years of age and the war had managed to consume his entire being and stripped it of everything, leaving nothing but a shaken, thin soldier hiding like some wimp from the other soldiers because some mute asshole called for him, took him under his wing. He was so fucking pissed. 

Even when his cold, pale hand reached out to a tanner, warmer hand to help, he still felt pissed. The warmth of the nameless soldier that swam for his life calmed him down long enough for him to be able to tug him to safety, out of the dangerous zone between the Destroyer and what was left of the white painted mole, fingers gathering up all the strength he had left to get him into safety. There's dark curls and piercing green eyes locked right at Tommy, a curt nod directed at him as they catch their breath briefly. Tommy wanted to acknowledge the man, nod at him or smile, maybe even pat his shoulder. Instead, he and the mute jumped off the mole, successfully soaking themselves in water before following green eyes up the steep ladder along the ratty, old wood structure.

~ 

**London, 1948**

Watching Alex propped up on the windowsill with a cigarette in hand, soft hair fluttering in the breeze, barefoot and shirtless, had after a while turned out to be one of Tommy's greatest hobbies. He felt like a creep, if he was to be honest, watching as the nicotine filled smoke draped around broad shoulders before disappearing out of sight, curling into the sunrays dancing across the hard wood floors, a soft sigh escaping plump lips. He'd spent hours kissing them last night, the soft shadow of bitemarks along the edge of his lower lip, bluish in the bright sunlight, and Tommy smiled softly to himself as he remembers Alex slapping the back of his head and pouting, bitching about the pain the rest of the night. Tommy ignored it, like he always does, but watching the man softly thumbing at the indents of teeth marks with a soft smirk playing at his lips made Tommy slightly proud, pouring two large mugs of tea for them. He walks over and leans in, pressing his lips to the soft slip of skin behind the man's right ear, inhaling the smoke enveloping him slowly before handing him his cup, taking a large gulp of his own, watching closely as Alex throws the cigarette out the window and lifts himself back onto the floor, flashing a big grin at Tommy in the process. 

"Mum's coming tomorrow," he points out, wrapping his long fingers around Tommy's wrist to pull him closer, breath smelling like breakfast tea as he kisses at the corner of thin lips. Tommy smiles carefully and turns his face so their lips press together effortlessly, neither of them making a move to intensify it as their hands join at their hips, Alex putting his mug down on the dinner table to wrap his arm across Tommy's shoulder, fingers playing with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. Tommy was the first to finish his tea, eyes roaming slowly across Alex's bare chest before letting his hands circle his narrow waist to place a small kiss at his collarbones, over the swallows, tattooed ink fading over the years, and he takes the time to sink his teeth into the flesh there. Alex hated when he left behind marks, having to hide them away in high collared sweaters or sometimes even turtlenecks if Tommy had felt particularly touchy the previous night, but this only lead to Tommy doing it in pure spite, a mischievous grin on his face as he pulls back and admires the blooming, red mark right above the bird on his left collarbone. 

"You're an absolute pain, Thomas," Alex grumbles and pulls away, sauntering off to the bedroom to slip on a shirt, buttoning it up with nimble fingers before drowning the rest of his tea quickly, placing a kiss on Alex the cat's head before leaving for work. He's turning 31 in November, soft crow's feet settling around his wide eyes over time, his dimples only growing deeper with the years. Tommy looks down into his empty mug and chews on his lip, his eyes catching sight of the small box perched on top of the kitchen cabinets, black suede glistening softly in the London sun, and he smiles to himself before putting their mugs in the sink and getting himself ready for work as well. 

Alex always headed over to the pub after work, his nose stuffy and runny from being outside in the cold all day during his deliveries, his thick coat pulled up to his chin as he settles himself down in the corner with today's newspaper and waits. Landon has never questioned it, not once, just takes it upon himself to serve up the younger lad with a few pints on the house, chatting him up whenever the place was sparse with customers. Alex, as polite as ever, would carry on the conversation with impersonal and simple questions, steering away from any chatter about himself, or Tommy. Or both, really. Landon never seemed to care, so it was fine, but Tommy would always feel the need to finish his dishwashing a bit faster than he would a few years ago, scrubbing roughly at the aged glasses, scratched and chipped from wear and rough handling (Tommy would never take the blame for that), and when Landon told him to head on home he wouldn't attempt to protest, 'cause the smile on Alex's face when he beckoned for them to go home was so lovely he wouldn't dare to postpone it. 

This evening, the pub had been unusually full, a large group of men settled around a couple of booths, loud and rough chatter amongst them, even Tommy had to work behind the bar today instead of the kitchen, which rarely ever happened. His arms were sore from handling all the heavy lifting and the drink mixing, thanking the lord that these brawly men mostly stuck to shitty tap beer, yet when Alex settled in his usual spot and smiled brightly at him, Landon grabbed his towel and clapped his damp, bare shoulder roughly and ordered him to, direct quote, 'fuck off home, lad', their newest employee smiling softly at them as she entered for her shift. So, they left, Alex wrapping Tommy up in his coat as Tommy felt the shivers take over him, cooling sweat drying on his skin in an uncomfortable layer, a thankful smile directed towards Alex. 

They made it home by 23:30, Alex running up a bath for Tommy while Tommy roamed around the kitchen, boiling water in the kettle on the stove, his hip propped against the chipped wood of their kitchen counters. His eyes drifted to the cabinets, his small box hidden from sight from where he stood, his teeth nibbling at his bottom lip as the kettle grows hot, water brought up to a weak simmer. He reached up, fingers gliding along the painted wood before settling on the small box, dusting the suede off with shaky fingers as he studies the box, eyes sliding closed as he breathes heavily, his chest tight. 

~ 

The feeling of the sand underneath him had never felt as disgusting as it did right now, Gibson and Alex at his side as they watch the water, ironically calm as it is, not giving a fuck about the lives it just took. Tommy always settled for blaming the water, the horrid, suffocating blue that forced itself inside of your lungs and gurgled in your chest, because he refused to believe that humans could do such things to each other. The experience of being shot at, bombed and attacked would never feel real to him because humans should care for each other, he thinks, not whatever the fuck this could be categorized as. Spite? Hate? He wouldn't know, he'd never felt it. 

Alex gets up as Gibson falls asleep, forcing his boots to dig into the sand way harsher than necessary, stomping off in the direction of the large sand hills on the other side of the beach, his hands fumbling messily with his belt buckle. Tommy's eyes follow his every move, Gibson stirring slightly in the sand next to him, his back touching against Tommy's knee as he gets comfortable with his head propped up on his jacket. Alex shot a look back at him and winked obnoxiously before he disappeared out of sight and Tommy felt his chest constrict painfully, the feeling of being alone washing over him as he looks around frantically, not thinking twice as he gets up and runs after the man, his too big boots kicking helplessly at the sand around him. He hadn't been alone since he met Gibson, and Alex hadn't been alone since god knows when, but when Tommy rounded the corner they were face to face, Alex's hand already down his pants as he stares at the younger lad intensely, dark eyes hidden under furrowed brows. They stared at each other, god knows how long Tommy didn't fucking care, but Alex eventually took a step closer to him and tilted his head slightly, jaw clenched tightly as he reaches up to grab Tommy's chin between his fingers, rough callouses scraping against his soft stubble and Tommy felt himself swallow heavily, eyes scanning the area around them. 'This isn't fucking save', he thinks, but he doesn't voice his thoughts as there are hands at his shoulders, fingers twisting into the fabric of his uniform and there are cold, bluish lips touching the lobe of his left ear, damp breath tickling at his neck. He just knows then, he understands, the way Alex can't seem to grip onto him properly, his shoulders shaking slightly as his shell-shocked soldier face is once again staring at Tommy. He doesn't say anything, he never does, he just finds the strength within himself to push at Tommy and breathe softly against his ear, features strained as he forces him down into the sand and Tommy knows, he wants to cry but he understands, tears stuck in his throat as he looks down, watches the sand settle into the folds of his pants, Alex's hands suddenly grabbing onto his face and forces him to look up at him, green eyes hidden by damp strands of hair falling across a wrinkled forehead, and Tommy cries then, on his knees for this fucking soldier he barely knows, barely managed to catch his name off the dog tag around his neck earlier, but his features gets softer and he strokes a thumb across Tommy's cheek to catch a stray tear and Tommy nods quickly as another sob wrecks through him. Alex soon enough muffles his cries and Tommy feels himself squeezing his eyes shut tightly, but Alex keeps his hand on his cheek the entire time, thumb stroking across his jaw occasionally. 

They make it back to Gibson just in time before he stirs awake, blinking lazily up at the two of them, Tommy's eyes cast down into his lap as he swallows down the heavy taste in his mouth, eyes still wet with tears as he sniffs quietly. Gibson eyes him carefully, hand hovering closer to Tommy before pulling away, settling into his own lap as he looks out across the sea, squinting at the sunlight. Alex is still there, closer now than what he was earlier, close enough that when his eyes meet Tommy's he flashes him a soft smile and reaches out to brush his fingers over the back of Tommy's hand before getting up, trailing after a group of highlanders. Tommy and Gibson follow, because that’s what Tommy does. He tags along like a lost puppy, because this man is all he's got. 

~ 

Alex's arms wrap him up tightly against his soft chest when Tommy sinks into the tub, between the older man's legs, shuddering slightly at the hot water enveloping the two of them, Alex's hands settling at his chest as he presses kisses to Tommy's neck slowly. Bubbles clings to the exposed skin of his legs where they stick out from the surface, his fingers reaching out to poke at them just as Alex pulls him tighter to his chest and scrubs across his abdomen with an old loofah, the scratchy material sending shivers down his spine. The room is silent except for the soft, pattering noise of water droplets breaking the surface, soapy suds running across Tommy's narrow shoulders as Alex lathers him up, dipping the loofah underwater to wash away the bubbles again. Tommy chews on one of his fingernails silently, eyes focused on the burning candles they lit atop the sink, melted wax drying at the old ceramic and Tommy grabs onto Alex's arms, bringing them up to his face to kiss at his knuckles. 

"There's a black suede box in the kitchen, on top of the cabinets next to the fridge," he mumbles quietly, lacing their fingers together on top of his stomach as he twists his head slightly to look at Alex, "I bought it a while ago, but I didn't know what to do with it." 

Alex looks surprised, if anything, the wrinkle above his right eyebrow indicating that he's also confused, yet he leans down and plants a kiss against Tommy's temple, the water sloshing over the sides of the tub as he moves them around, the two of them now front to front in the rapidly cooling water. He runs a cold finger down the hot skin of Tommy's cheek, smiling at the childlike redness that blooms across his otherwise pale complexion, front teeth hooked over the edge of his bottom lip as he grins. Tommy's face moves to rest over Alex's left peck, arms wound tightly around his waist as he exhales heavily, pushing the tip of his nose against the soft skin around the man's nipple. There are fingers twirling locks of his hair around them as Alex speaks up, chest rumbling with the deepness of his voice.

"Do you know now?" Tommy doesn't answer right away, just brings his hand up to caress at the softening flesh around Alex's middle, eyes fluttering close as the water goes from lukewarm to chilly, a thin layer of cooling soap drying across his shoulders. His fingers pull out the bath plug from behind Alex's back before he leans up to kiss him quickly, fetching their towels from the hooks on the wall. 

"Come with me." 

Alex is the one who reaches up to retrieve the box, soft velvet growing damp from his wrinkly fingers as he inspects it, his face unusually soft and relaxed as he turns to Tommy, towel secured around his hips. He doesn't open it, he just strokes his fingers across the material and watches the fabric glisten slightly underneath the ugly, yellow light of their apartment, his hips propped up against the counters, much like Tommy. 

"When you got on that train in Weymouth, I felt abandoned. I was so fucking scared, Alex," they stare at each other from across the kitchen, Tommy feeling just as small as he felt that day when Alex let go of him and hopped onto the vessel that would inevitably split them for five whole years. He felt insecure as Alex watches him with a scrutinizing gaze, black box placed securely on the kitchen counter behind him. 

"They deemed me unfit for service because I kept screaming for you whenever the nurses came to check on me, I kept yelling for my love to come back, my male love," Alex's gaze falls to the floor then, shoulders tense as he pinches at the bridge of his nose with long fingers, hair falling over his face, "My head wasn't clear, they told me. I wasn't thinking clearly," Alex sucks in a shaky breath. 

"I went home to my parents, I wasn't even half the boy they sent off to war, I was so fucking different," he takes a step closer to Alex and searches for his gaze, "Some prick from god-knows-where had turned their innocent, 19-year-old boy into a bloody poof and they were furious. My dad, he took my dog tag and I remember screaming at him because you kissed it on the train and I didn't wanna lose it, I swore to God I could still see the outline of your lips on the damn metal," he shakes his head and clears his throat quickly, tears welling up in his eyes as he strokes a single finger across the back of Alex's hand, mimicking the one, soft touch he remembers being given at Dunkirk beach, the burning of Alex's flesh on his before they joined the highlanders in their pursuit of that trawler. Alex nearly pulled his hand back, muscles flexing quickly before he relaxes and allows Tommy to glide his fingers across his forearm and wrap around his bicep, holding onto him firmly. 

"They kicked me out, screaming at me and throwing rocks at me. I lost my family because of you," their foreheads lean against each other, Alex refusing to look at Tommy, eyes squeezing shut and in that moment, he looked so small compared to what Tommy was used to, "and I don't regret it for a minute," he presses his lips to Alex's nose affectionately, grabbing the small box and balancing it on his shoulder. 

"They never understood my love for you, they never got the chance 'cause karma bit them in the arse and took them from this earth fairly young. They never got to love you like I do," he whispers and Alex looks at him, then, eyes rimmed red but he still smiled, a barely- there quirk of his lips but it was a smile none the less, "they didn't want to understand, so I didn't let them. I left, and I didn't look back, and five years later it brought me you. You're all I need." 

He pops the lid open and turns it towards Alex, the simple gold band perched nicely in the midst of a white cushion, Alex's fingers moving to stroke over it slowly. There's a quiet chuckle erupting from his seconds later, eyes sparkling as he leans his head back and laughs, arms wrapping around Tommy's neck to pull him closer. 

"You're a real cheese ball, aren't you? I fucking knew it," Tommy rolls his eyes fondly and shakes his head, slipping the ring out of its confinement to hold it up in front of them, eyes turning a tad bit serious.

"If I could, I would marry you every day of the week, but I can't. But I can give you a ring and hope you'll accept it," he slips it on Alex's finger quickly and grins, landing a small kiss where it stands out against the pale skin, glistening softly. He receives a quick kiss to the cheek and a soft murmur, his body sagging into the smell of Alex as they embrace, skin erupting in goose bumps as they adjust to the cool temperature of their living room. There are lips kissing at his jawline, hands grasping at the towel around his waist and he feels lightheaded, allowing his hands to settle onto the love handles Alex had acquired over the past few years, squeezing at the soft flesh. 

"We're already married, yeah? Maybe not on paper," his fingers tap at Tommy's temple three times, a toothy grin flashed his way, "but up here. We have been for years." 

Tommy smiles at that. 

~ 

Tommy swears he can still feel the remains of spit littered across his face, angry words settling into his pores permanently, each syllable latched with a desperation he had never experienced before. Alex is next to him, a bit too close for comfort, the small boat swaying softly with each wave crashing against the old wood. They made it, he realised then, aboard a little, shitty boat called the Moonstone, Alex's wet clothes sliding against his own as they make their way up on deck, the majestic cliffs in front of them stunning them silent for a few moments. He inspects Alex, appreciates how much calmer the man looks, how much more human he feels rather than when he nearly shot Tommy's brains out aboard the trawler. Their eyes meet for a split second before Tommy turns his head away. 

"I'm not like that, you know," Alex leans over the railing, fingers gripping the reddish wood with cold, shivering hands, his face turned away from Tommy. The calming sound of the waves smashing against the side of the vessel keeps his brain occupied for a moment, the sound almost lulling as they stand there together, shoulders touching, home creeping up on them with each passing second. 

"I wish you could look at me when you say that," Alex whips around and shoves a finger in his face, knocking his knuckles against Tommy's chin as he speaks, eyes wild with pent up emotion and anger. For a split moment Tommy thinks he must be lying 'cause he looks exactly the fucking same as he did a few hours ago, but he gives the man the benefit of the doubt. Owes him that much, he figures. 

"I'm not like that, Tom. Never," his voice breaks at the last syllable and he pulls away, his jaw clenched defiantly as Peter gives the two of them a quiet nod and hands them a few blankets, disappearing back inside to assist his father. Tommy pitied the boy, he really did, not being much younger than himself and still being affected by the war. A particularly large wave crashed against the boat and makes it jostle and Tommy spots Alex gripping onto the side of the vessel tightly, knuckles all white as his face pales, chin pressed against his chest. He looks bloody terrified. 

"Did it ever mean anything to you, Alex?" He doesn't really expect an answer, his back turned to the other man as he looks back towards Dunkirk, smoke still crawling its way towards the sky, dark and thick and murderous. There's shuffling behind him, movements he doesn't give a fuck about, movements that lead to Alex being pressed up against him, seemingly innocent to anyone who might spot them but not to Tommy. To Tommy it was everything but. A hand finds its way to his waist where it grips onto the fabric of his uniform and tugs, Alex's chin propping itself up on his left shoulder. 

"You meant everything in the very moment and nothing when it finished," the words stung, he wasn't gonna lie, they made him close his eyes and lean his face away from the other man, teeth grinding against each other uncomfortably as he swallows down the heavy lump in his throat, forcing down the bile that threatened to spill out of him and all over the floor. The hand at his waist finds its way under his uniform to squeeze at his bare hip, the cold touch sending a sing of goose bumps all over his body as it caresses the skin there, thumb rubbing over the soft baby fat still gathered at his hips. He bloody hated it, he hated everything. He hated him. Yet he didn't, not really. He turns around and their eyes meet for what seems to be the first time ever, the darkness that used to be found in the green of Alex now gone, his pupils a normal size rather than the dilated shape they had been in whenever Tommy found himself on his knees for the man. Alex tilts his chin down and cocks his head, lower lip caught between his large front teeth, Tommy mirroring his exact look. 

"And what about now?" It's merely a whisper, but Alex heard it clear as day, his jaw tightening as he looks around to make sure no one's watching, Tommy's arms wrapped tightly around himself as the wind picks up, blowing through their hair as they huddle together on deck. They're alone out here now, all the other soldiers having made their way downstairs to get a warm beverage and a blanket. Alex doesn't meet his eyes for a while, seemingly in deep thought as he licks at his raw, bitten lips and smiles carefully, the first genuine smile Tommy had ever seen on his face. 

"I have no fucking clue," Tommy smiles sheepishly at him and they sit down together, Alex's arm wrapped over Tommy's shoulders to keep him warm, their shared blanket thrown over their legs as they lean their backs against the side of the boat. Tommy dares to look up at the other man when he starts humming a quiet tune under his breath, the melody nearly disappearing amongst the loud noises of the blowing air, dark voice struggling to clearly make out the words of the unknown melody. He finds great comfort in the way those red lips wrap around each word so gracefully, pink tongue pushing against teeth to mutter each letter. Alex seems to notice and stops singing, hand bending at an awkward angle to stroke over Tommy's cheek, the rough skin of his thumb scratching across a high cheekbone before their breaths mingle together, Tommy's breathing picking up its pace. They never kissed, he thought it would only make things odd, more fucking odd than they already were, and he never thought Alex would want that. He was, after all, only important when he acted as a hole to grasp onto whenever shit got tough. That's what he thought, at least. 

"Can I kiss you?" It's a stupid fucking question, that's what it is, because Tommy's fingers are wrapped tightly around Alex's hand under the blanket and his head is leaned back in what he would only describe as submission, making no move to get away from their already conflicting position, yet Alex for once had the fucking decency to ask. Polite boy, he was, obviously. 

Tommy doesn't answer, just tilts his chin further, hoping to the God's that Alex understands and he does, he leans forward and presses his lips to Tommy's for a short second, nothing grand about it. Could barely even be called a kiss, it's brief and almost friendly, just a soft touch of lips. Tommy thinks he's ridiculous, so he wraps an arm around Alex's neck to pull them together again, and even though this was his first ever kiss, Tommy felt like the experienced one.

~ 

"Okay, you can say whatever the fuck you want, but our first kiss was pathetic, and you know it," Alex throws the spatula down with an overdramatic gasp and turns to Tommy, arms crossing over his chest. Annie was seated on the couch, chuckling softly at her boys' ridiculous argument, sipping her tea slowly. 

"What? I think our first kiss was bloody great," Alex fights back, huffing annoyedly when Tommy just rolls his eyes and continues slicing the vegetables, mumbling quietly to himself under his breath. He leaves the meat alone for a few seconds in favour of wrapping his arms around Tommy's waist to shove his face against his neck, watching the movement of the sharp, silver knife slicing through the body of a carrot, the satisfying crunch being the only sound between them. As he finishes, the slides the carrots into the pot of boiling water and turns back to Alex, his shoulders hunched slightly. 

"No, our second kiss was bloody great. No thanks to you, though," Tommy seems awfully smug as he chews on his bottom lip, hands clasped behind his back as he shrugs nonchalantly, flicking a stray piece of hair from his face with a quick jerk of his head. Alex raises an eyebrow and snorts, scratching thoughtfully at his chin as he flips the meat quickly, the soft sizzling picking up volume momentarily.

"I don't really remember much of it, to be honest," it's a blatant lie, they both know it, his normally steady and deep voice ricing an octave as the words escape him, the ridiculous statement floating briefly between them, "So it obviously wasn't that great, was it?" Alex is awfully happy with himself, front teeth pushed into the flesh of his bottom lip as he tries to control his grin, ending up looking mildly constipated, at least Tommy thought so. The younger man shakes his head slowly. 

"Gave you a boner, so it was obviously quite good," Annie splutters from the living room, a scandalized look on her face as she emerges with her cup in hand, eyes large and frightened. Alex and Tommy share a quick look before snickering to themselves, leaning against one another for support. 

"Filthy boys, you are," she mutters to herself, shaking her head in disbelief as she inspects the two of them, her boys, innocent grins on their faces as Tommy's arm wraps around Alex's waist, delivering a quick peck to his cheek. The clock strikes 18:00, which sets Alex into motion as he pops a large piece of meat into his mouth and gives his mum a kiss on the cheek and Tommy a longer one on the mouth before he goes off to work, flowy shirt untucked from his trousers. Annie shifts in her spot by the dining table, a small smile on her face as Tommy serves up dinner for them. 

"You chose a lovely ring," she comments, taking a sip of her cold glass of water just as Tommy joined her by the table, his eyes immediately locking with hers. She grins and pops a piece of meat in her mouth, chewing on the slightly overcooked food as she leans towards him, fork dangling between her slim fingers as she prods, "How did he react?" 

Tommy didn't really know how to answer that, pushing around a piece of carrot in his mouth as he shifts his gaze to his plate, the chipped ceramic covered in the meek dinner they had prepared. He inhales softly and swallows the vegetable, fingers laced together as he places his elbows on the table top, itching at his lip with his thumb. 

"I don't know," he answers, brows furrowed slightly as he picks at a piece of meat stuck between his teeth, pushing a loose strand of hair away from his face. Annie gave him an uncertain look, reaching across the table to wrap her fingers around his hand as tears press at the back of his eyelids, a sudden wave of emotions overcoming him as his dinner turns cold beneath him. He manages to let out a shaky breath and smile at Annie, waving his hand slightly. 

"Honey, what's the matter?" She mumbles, getting out of her seat to wrap an arm around his neck, his forehead falling against her chest, eyes pressed closed tightly. He couldn't help the tightening feeling in his gut, a feeling he rarely ever had, especially around Alex, but whenever he spotted that ring on his finger his heart clenched uncomfortably, making him feel sick. 

"I don't think I deserve your son." 

His statement causes Annie to wound her fingers into his hair and force his head up with a slow tug, her forehead etched with confusion as she wipes away the tear running down his left cheek. He felt like a 6-year-old being comforted by his mum after falling off the bike and scraping his knee, the same feeling he always got when Annie was around. 

"What on earth are you on about, love? Of course, you deserve him," she nearly coos at him, wrapping an arm around him to lead him to the couch, the two of them sat down close to each other, his head leaned against the back of the couch for support, "I don't understand where all of this is coming from, did Alexander say something?" 

Tommy chuckles and closes his eyes, head shaking from side to side as he sniffles, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. 

"He'd never say that, mum, you raised him better than that," her thumbs wipe away the stray tears running down his cheeks, "I just feel like I'm holding him back, you know? He wanted all these things in life and then I came along and he just gave them all up," the pain in his chest throbs harshly as he rushes his words out, fingers clutching onto her hand tightly, every wheel in his head spinning desperately, trying to work out what the hell he's trying to say. He thinks back, remembers all the times Alex has thrown longing looks after passing families when walking down the street, or how his nephews would come stay over in their spare bedroom almost every weekend. He pushes himself off the couch and wraps his arms protectively around his own waist, using his shoulder to quickly rub away the tears sneaking their way down his neck. 

"I see the way he looks at kids, Annie, and I know he's dying to have his own. I feel useless, I can't carry his children and we can't adopt... he should be with someone who can give him absolutely everything," it's hard to talk from the rough constrictions his throat keeps making, voice all shaky and wavering dangerously on each word, his head slowly but surely closing in on itself as all his deepest worries surfaced for the first time, his forehead dropping to lean against the mantelpiece, wood cold and soothing against his forehead. His mouth kept going, spewing all the worries and pent up shit he'd hid for Alex for the past years they'd spent together, chest vibrating with each harsh pull of breath he takes, fists clenched against his sides. "I mean, what could I possibly offer him? A life filled with hiding away, sneaking in kisses when no one's watching; no one fucking wants that," he nearly knocks down a picture frame when she grabs onto his arms, turning him around forcefully, her blunt fingernails digging into his arms. "I don't deserve him." 

It's more of a whisper than a statement, the heels of his hands pressing into his eye sockets painfully, a multitude of colours exploding behind his eyelids, a weak groan escaping him as he lets go. Annie's fingers let go of him, moving to grasp onto his jaw instead as her wide eyes meet his and he wants to cry even more because it's like looking at him, the deep green soothing him as he leans his head into her touch, shoulders sagging. Looking at her feels like war, it feels like sand raining above him as bombs go off in the distance, it makes his legs tighten in anticipation for everything to rumble, for the ground to shake underneath him and knock him on his arse. He sees desperation, a hand reaching out for his help at the last second, and he sees fear as the green nearly killed him, nearly blew his head off trying to stay alive. But then he sees quiet nights on the couch with teacups in hand, green glittering underneath the orange halo emitting from the fireplace, edged with crow's feet and curly eyelashes and he realises how stupid he's being. So bloody stupid. 

"You know what I think?" Her soft voice knocks him out of his own thoughts, gentle fingers tapping at his skin to get his attention, motherly affection sizzling against the stubbly skin there as she licks her lips, stroking her other hand over the ball of his shoulder. "I think he's let go of his smaller dreams in life to make room for the bigger one," he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles, sliding his arms around her waist to tug her into a hug, bending at the hips to reach down to her, her thin frame pressed against him. "Spending the rest of his life with you is so much more important than anything else, Thomas, you have to understand. My son is not one of many cliché's, but he is one to follow his dreams. You're his dream." 

~ 

Thomas has never hated trains quite like he did right now, the heavy steam curling around the feet of hundreds of soldiers as they hurry across the rubble in all directions, one more shell shocked than the other. There are voices, loud voices, but Tommy can't hear them, all he can hear is the steady beat in his head reminding him that 'you're about to lose him, he's leaving you behind'. To him, everything feels eerily silent. Until it's not. 

The train whistles, the screeching noise piercing through his ears as he looks up from his boots, his muddy and scraped up boots, and right into a green so intense he can't bring himself to look away. They're standing close together, way too close, but no one seemed to care, so Tommy didn't either. He reached out to grab onto Alex's uniform with his fingers, giving him a soft tug. He opens his mouth, he wants to say something, anything, but everything turns so loud and everyone is so stressed, he can't concentrate. His soldier pulls him out of it, pulls him out of everything. 

"Tom, I'm right here, yeah? I'm not leavin' yet, stay with me," the voice is so eerily unfamiliar, the soft breaths fanning across his face so foreign and odd, not quite reaching his ears as his head shakes, rough jerks back and forth and he grips onto him tighter, holds onto everything he's got. His throat feels dry but at the same time sticky, making it hard for him to swallow down the panicked tears clogging his throat painfully, his Adam's apple uselessly bobbing. A hand settles at the back of his neck protectively, slick fingers combing through the knotted strands of hair at the back of his head soothingly, grounding him for just a few more seconds as the train whistles again, the noise cutting through the air like a sharp knife. 

"I can't do this without you," he whispers then, words all choked and forced but sincere, fingers moving to grip onto Alex's hand instead, concealed by their oversized coats as they huddle together, They're so close that the older man's dog tag tickles against the side of his chest, cold against his skin, his breaths coming out in hurried little puffs against Alex's neck and he can't seem to let go, can't watch him walk away and know that they're not going to ever see each other again, both of them probably dying before the war is even over. He hates himself as he even thinks it, tightening his hold when he feels Alex moving away, a desperation settling in him as he tugs him back. 

"No, please, you can't leave me," his voice is barely above a whisper, a confession shared only between the two of them despite the crown hurdling around them, Alex's jaw tightening as he looks down at Tommy, features all soft now. The frown between his eyes is gone and he looks so young, he looks as young as he actually is, eyes glazed over as he nods quickly, looking down at his shoes. His arm comes up to wrap around Tommy's neck and pull him closer, their cheeks pressed together tightly, his lips brushing the lobe of his ear as he speaks, hushed words chosen carefully. 

"Listen to me, Tom, this is important," fingers graze against the back of his neck soothingly as his eyes slips closed, Alex's hand gripping onto his forearm as he undoubtedly keeps an eye out for any bystanders that might be watching, posture rigid and tense. "When all this is over, no matter when it ends, we will meet again, yeah? We'll meet, and we'll be together, I promise you that. I'll run to the end of the fucking earth if I must," his words grow weaker as his voice fades out, both of his arms wrapping around Tommy's slender body in a tight embrace, Alex's face digging into the crook of his neck, rubbing his cheek against the scratchy material. One day, that spot might smell like him. 

"This is not goodbye, Tom," Tommy breaks down in tears before he has even finished his sentence, quiet but harsh sobs wrecking through his body as he holds on tighter, the salty tears running down his stinging, red skin as he weeps because he doesn't want it to be goodbye, he doesn't want this to be final. He can feel Alex trying to distance himself, fingers prying at his own to try to make him let go, attempting to separate them in time. He fights him, keeps ripping away from Alex's hands to grab onto him again, attempting to keep Alex close as the train lets out the third and final whistle, Alex's eyes frantic as he tries to push Tommy away. Their hands clasp together and Alex grabs onto his dog tag, pulls him closer by the thin, silver string and presses a kiss to it, warm breath fanning over the cold metal, his fingers slipping a small piece of paper into the pocket of Tommy's uniform. They lock eyes one last time, Alex's hand warm on his cheek as he utters the last sentence exchanged between them, brows furrowed. 

"When all this is over, you come find me, you hear?" 

And then he's gone. 

~ 

The salty breeze tickles through the long, dark locks of Tommy's hair as he sits down in the sand, his dark pants immediately layered in a soft sheen of dust as he places their picnic basket down next to him, the woven material crunching softly. Seagulls are flying above his head, screaming loudly at the sight of humans, circling around them in hopes for food. The waves crash against the shore as Tommy closes his eyes, allows the smell of salt to envelop him for a moment, his knitted tank top flopping slightly under the intense wind. 

He can hear Edward squeal in the distance, grinning to himself when he spots Alex hoisting the, now 7, year old boy over his shoulder, his pants folded up to his knees as he sprints away from Christopher, water splashing around them. 9-year-old Christopher laughs with them and kicks sand after his uncle and baby brother, his shoulder length hair whipping around his face as he shields his eyes from the sun, sweater rolled up to his elbows. Alex puts Edward down and watches as the two boys engage in a serious game of tag, running along the pale sand with their bare feet, Alex left behind with his hands placed firmly on his hips, a dopey grin covering his face. Their eyes meet, Alex slowly raising his hand to wave at him and Tommy chuckles, waving back at the ridiculous love of his life, the front of his pants splattered with salt water. After a few moments Alex gains his attention once again as he drops to his knees, a smug look on his face as he raises his hand to blow a kiss at Tommy, the humorous glint in his eye so evident despite the distance between them. Tommy sighs and mouths a quick 'I love you' at him, laying down on the sand with his hands perched on his stomach, fingers clasped together. 

As he lies there, his family running around him, laughing at each other and kicking sand in all directions, building sandcastles as they got tired from all the chasing, Tommy realised something. He thought back to his conversation with Annie, remembered the look in her eyes and the sincerity in her touch, let himself get sucked into the meaning behind her words and when he cracked one eye open to look over at Alex again, all red faced and sweaty from the running, and he couldn’t help but to grin widely to himself. 

Because Alex was his dream, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what to say. I bloody finished it you guys, it's fucking finished and I'm so happy and sad and relieved and like, I want to go to sleep. But I need to thank you guys first, all the support and the love you've left for me with your kudos and your comments makes me so happy, I don't even know how to express it through a shitty chapter note. I would love for you to keep commenting and stuff, even though it's finished, and you know, it might not be the last thing I post. I've suddendly gotten the hang of writing again after years with shitty fanfic writing (so bad, so so bad), and now I'm finally happy with my stuff and I'm glad you are, too. My friend has enjoyed your comments too, btw, she wanted me to mention it ahaha.   
> This thing had made me cry numerous times because it messes with my head, but this is my goodbye to it and it kinda stings, 'cause I've spent a lot of time and energy on this thing and now it's done. But yes, I hope the end satisfied you all and thank you for all your support. Love you all.


End file.
